#after these next two commissions i’m not going to be spending money on anything because i am just Paralyzed by anxiety about not making any | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seijorhi · 3 years

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No Strings Attached

A commission for the lovely @hearteyes-candyskies, hope you like it bby! 💕

Bokuto Koutarou x female reader

TW Age gap, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic behaviour, nsfw(ish)

Three months ago, you would have laughed at the very idea of having a sugar daddy.

Then again, three months ago you were still living with your boyfriend and had a steady paycheck coming in every week. You can blame losing the latter on bad luck and an asshole boss, but the former-

You knew your relationship with your ex was far from perfect, but coming home from losing said job to find him buried balls deep in your next door neighbour was a bit of a slap in the face.

Needless to say, in the space of a few days you were out a job, a boyfriend and an apartment. Which, somewhat inevitably, led to you being six wines deep, slumped over your best friend’s bed, sobbing over the wreckage of the life you’d built, suddenly ripped out from beneath you.

You can’t really remember whose idea it was, only giggling drunkenly between yourselves as Misuzu set up your ‘sugar baby’ profile. “Shh, no this is gonna be great,” she’d said, hitting at the hands that tried to grab back your phone. “Meet some hot rich old dude, ride a little dick, let him shower you in cash; all your problems? Poof, sorted!”

And even with the heady, rose tinted haze of your wine fuelled inebriation, you knew that it was just a joke, a bit of stupid fun born more out of an attempt to cheer you up than a viable plan to get the tattered remains of your life back on track. Calling some old creepy dude ‘daddy’ and pretending to love him (not to mention the whole letting him fuck you thing) just for a little money wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

Plus, you were fairly sure that you weren’t what most people had in mind when they thought ‘sugar baby’. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, just dumb, drunken fun with your friend.

So when you woke the next day a little after mid morning with a head full of regrets and a pounding headache, the last thing you expected was to find a message from BigDaddyKou82 waiting for you, better sense told you to ignore it.

Honestly, you didn’t really want a sugar daddy, your love life was enough of a mess without throwing in a power imbalance like that.

You should have ignored the message, deleted it or shot him a quick reply politely explaining that you weren’t interested so you could put it out of your mind, and you would have-

If Misuzu hadn’t caught sight of the message first, snatching the phone out of your hand with a gleeful shriek.

—

If you’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t do anything by half measures. So when he tells you he’s booked dinner for the two of you at an upscale restaurant in the city, you should have expected the package that’s hand delivered right to the door of your shitty little apartment. The dress is beautiful, expensive - though you could tell that just from the elegant matte black box wrapped in golden ribbon it arrives in. It’s exactly his style; short, revealing and just dancing along the edge of impropriety, not that that’ll bother him in the slightest.

But it is gorgeous, and loathe as you are to admit it, it flatters you well.

It’s not the first time that he’s bought you clothes, your tiny closet’s almost overflowing with pieces he’s gifted you. He likes seeing you in the things he’s bought, sometimes a little too much, you think. But you’ve learned it’s better just to go along with it - he gets this wide eyed, beaming grin whenever he sees you dressed in the pretty things he’s bought you, and the sight of it never fails to make your cheeks heat, warmth curling in your stomach.

The dress was not unexpected. The soft, lacy lingerie that comes in the accompanying box, on the other hand - that was new.

And of course, you barely have time to unwrap your gift when your phone flashes to life, an incoming call from the man himself.

“D’ya like it?”

The giddy excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and if you close your eyes you can picture the look on his face - golden eyes all hooded and hungry, that glittering, eager grin he wears when the two of you are out in public but his mind’s occupied with all the filthy, wonderful things he wants to do to you the moment you’re alone.

Not that he’s ever that patient.

“Um, it’s…” Fingers tentatively reach into the tissue paper, pulling the sheer, lacy bra out, warmth blossoming in your cheeks. The matching panties - a tiny scrap of lace held together with bows and thin black straps - really aren’t much better. Like the dress, the lingerie is clearly well made, probably cost more than your weekly rent, and the delicate set is arguably gorgeous (you can’t even argue his taste), but–

“You’re gonna wear it for me tonight, right, baby?”

It’s not really a question; of course you will, because you always do. You would have thought by now that you’d be used to the gifts he showers you in.

“Yeah, but Kou, you really didn’t have to spend all this money on me. Dinner’s enough,” you tell him, setting the lingerie back down.

Dinner, and everything else for that matter.

A chuckle echoes down the line. “But I like spoiling my girl. Like buying you pretty things,” his voice dips, “like tearing ‘em off you afterwards, too.”

And despite all the apprehension curled up inside of you, a shiver of excitement runs down your spine.

—

“So…” Misuzu pushes, leaning across the countertop with her chin resting on her palm and looking entirely too pleased at your discomfort.

“He… asked me to meet him.”

Her eyes widen, sparkling in delight as she gasps, “For dinner?”

“For a drink - one drink,” you clarify. You elect not to tell her that he’d initially tried to sway you into dinner, and it was you who’d talked him down to a drink. Truthfully, you’d probably feel more comfortable getting coffee, but meeting at a bar was fine.

One drink, and if things got awkward or he turned out to be a creep you’d be out of there in a heartbeat.

“Oh my god!! My baby Y/N, all grown up and manipulating old, lonely men for money. I’m so proud,” she wipes a fake tear from her eye and bursts into a fit of giggles.

A crinkle appears between your brow as you frown at her, “He’s not even that old,” you grumble, “and it’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

“No?” she asks, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You know, for somebody who was so against me messaging your soon to be sugar daddy, you sure move quickly.”

She laughs at the glare you shoot her way. “You were the one who started this.”

“Mhm, and you were the one who didn’t stop it. Funny that, don’t you think?”

She looks like the cat that ate the canary; smug, glittering amusement written all across her face. And you hate, more than anything, that she’s right.

Because you’d meant to put a stop to it the moment you managed to wrestle your phone back from her. Afterwards, you’d blame the lingering hurt of having your heart broken, the insecurities and bitter humiliation that plagued you, the feeling that you weren’t good enough to stop your boyfriend from straying for making you so pathetically vulnerable and desperate for approval - but when you opened the chat instead of the sleazy come on’s you expected, his first message makes something inside of you flutter, warm and pleasant.

Holy crap, you’re beautiful.

Not exactly a sonnet from Shakespeare, but you can’t remember the last time any guy, much less your ex, called you beautiful.

It didn’t exactly hurt that instead of the aging, creepy looking letch you were half expecting, the profile picture showed a rather fit, attractive man in a crisp, black suit with silvery grey streaked hair and an easy grin. Of course, it was a fifty-fifty chance that the pic wasn’t even him, or if it was then it was outdated or heavily edited, but it was enough to make you pause.

Enough to make you… curious, if nothing else.

But ridiculously attractive or not, you weren’t going to lead him on. If he wanted some pretty, simpering thing to fuck and throw money at, to call him daddy and be his sweet, obedient little girl - that wasn’t you. You’d explained that you weren’t really sure if this was your thing, that you probably weren’t what he had in mind, but surprisingly he hadn’t been put off by that.

Well what’s the harm in finding out for yourself? Maybe you’ll like it more than you think ;)

—

There were rules, when you started - lines you both agreed wouldn’t be crossed.

First and foremost, while it wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship - at least, not the kind you were used to - it was still a relationship of sorts, and there was an expectation of honesty in lieu of absolute exclusivity. You’d tell him if you were seeing anybody else, and Bokuto would tell you the same. Considering sex was on the table, it made sense.

You swore right from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to become financially dependent on him - you knew all too well that relationships were fickle things to begin with. That kind of dependency was half the reason you were in this position in the first place, and you wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that happen again. That didn’t mean that the arrangement wasn’t transactional. After a few initial meetings that went better than you expected, the two of you came to an agreement; a nice little sum of money he’d deposit weekly in your account in exchange for you being there when he wanted you. Dinner dates, skype calls when he’s travelling, spur of the moment weekends away in expensive hotels - whatever he wanted... within reason.

The thing is, despite his flaws - the little funks he gets into, his immaturity despite the age gap between you, the way he clings to you, mopes if you don’t pay him the attention he wants - you genuinely like Bo, he’s oddly endearing. Loveable, even. He reminds you a little of a puppy; eager for affection, bright and boisterous with boundless energy (and enviable stamina). He’s sweet and adoring and funny and he has this uncanny ability to make everything else fade away when you’re with him, to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room, beautiful and perfect and entirely his-

But that didn’t make him your boyfriend.

You weren’t lovers, and whether it was in two weeks or two years, you both knew this arrangement had an expiration date. And because of that, there were no strings attached. At any point, either one of you could end it without an explanation - no questions asked, no feelings hurt.

—

Truthfully, you don’t know an awful lot about Bokuto’s line of work, only that his position within the company is senior enough that he can move around his schedule pretty much as he wants, leaving him free to see you whenever he likes.

Which wasn’t a problem when that was once or twice a week.

“Sorry, Koutarou, you know I can’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

The petulant whine that echoes down the phone fills you with an odd sort of guilt. “Why not? You said no on Friday, too,” he pouts. “I miss you, baby. Wanna see you again.”

You shove down the faint, flickering unease that nudges at your gut. You’re not his girlfriend, and you find yourself wondering whether or not he sometimes deliberately lets himself forget that.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you frown, “I told you I have work today. It’s too late for me to try and find someone to cover my shift, and if I call in again-”

You can kiss your job goodbye. You’re already on thin ice with your boss, and it’s not like new waitresses are hard to find these days.

“Well… what time do you finish?” he asks, his voice thick with dejection, as if he already knows what your answer’s going to be.

You bite back a sigh, “Late. I’m on close again.”

The short silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “… I’ll come pick you up afterwards.”

This time you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes, “Kou, I’m gonna be exhausted, I won’t be any fun to be around.”

“Still wanna see you. You’re always working,” he grumbles. “Feels like you don’t have time for me anymore, baby.”

Slowly your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. It always comes back to this. “I need this job, baby. We’ve talked about this… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have the whole day off, I’m entirely yours.”

“All mine, hm?”

You smile, “All yours, promise.”

He hums in acknowledgement, not entirely happy, but temporarily placated. “Fiiiine. But I’m holding you to it.”

As if you expected any less. “I have to go get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you later,” he promises, and you hang up a moment later.

When he said that, you assumed that both of you were on the same page as to what ��later’ meant.

Three hours into your shift, you hadn’t expected to return from the kitchen to find a grinning Bokuto lounging in one of your booths.

“He asked for you specifically when he came in,” one of your coworkers tells you, shooting you a playful wink. “Didn’t know you were into silver foxes, Y/N. But I can’t say I blame you, he’s hot!”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter distractedly, glancing over your shoulder to check your manager wasn’t watching before making your way over.

The smile on your face is tight as golden eyes flicker towards you. “Bokuto,” you begin quietly, “what- what are you doing here?”

An odd look passes across his face at the use of his family name, but the smug grin remains. “You said you had to work tonight,” he says with a cavalier shrug, as if that explained everything.

“Yes, because I’m working! Kou, I need this job, I can’t-” you break off with a huff, darting another glance over your shoulder. Thankfully, your manager’s busy berating your co-worker for a screwed up order and hasn’t noticed your absence yet.

Taking advantage of your distracted state, Bokuto reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking back and forth along the back of your palm. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here to work, I get it, baby. I’m just here for some food, cross my heart,” he swears, drawing an imaginary X over his chest with his finger.

Gently tugging your hand back, you ignore the hurt little pout he gives you. “So you decided to drive twenty minutes across town just to eat here?” you ask, trying to keep the exasperation from colouring your tone.

He shifts a little in his seat, cheeks flushing a dusty pink under your narrowed stare. “… Well, maybe I wanted to see my pretty girl, too,” he admits, “But I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Somehow, his words don’t fill you with confidence, but what are you supposed to do? Kick him out? Snap at him for coming despite the fact you told him not to? Taking a deep, steadying breath through your nose, you force yourself to relax. Bokuto’s not hurting anybody by being there, and so long as he keeps his hands to himself, so long as he behaves, it won’t be an issue.

He’s a paying customer, and you’ll treat him just like you would anyone else who walked through the restaurant’s doors.

Yet despite trying to reassure yourself of that, you can’t escape the niggling sense of unease sitting in the pit of your stomach. Even if he’s the perfect gentleman tonight, the perfect stranger, you’ve worked hard to keep your boring day to day life and the one you’ve created with him in nice, neat, separate boxes. Bokuto hasn’t met your friends or your family and outside of Misuzu they don’t have a clue about your arrangement with your attractive if somewhat clingy benefactor.

You don’t want them to know.

Him being here threatens that - it makes you nervous.

But you’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know that you can’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, and you definitely don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. It’s a conversation for another day.

Instead, you allow a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips, “You know the food’s pretty average here, you might be disappointed.”

Bokuto grins again, mischief sparkling in those golden eyes, and your traitorous heart skips a beat. “Yeah, don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he leans in closer, “I’m far more interested in what’s for dessert.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as he snickers.

—

For the most part he keeps his hands to himself, but you can’t quite bring yourself to relax when you can feel those golden, hungry eyes burning a hole into your back as you move around the restaurant serving other customers.

You pretend you don’t see the scowling glower he sends to the harmless office-worker who spends a good forty five minutes flirting with you every time you go over to check on his table.

Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small army and stays until close, leaving a more than generous tip on his way out.

It goes without saying that he waits for you to finish up. The moment you slip out the door, calling out one last goodnight to your coworker, he’s on you, pushing you up against the brick alleyway wall, hiking your legs up over his hips as his mouth attacks yours, greedy and eager, swallowing up any and all protests you might’ve had.

He doesn’t take you home like you ask, but back to his penthouse suite, and neither of you get much sleep that night.

—

You’re halfway through washing your hair a few days later when your shower head splutters once… twice… and stops completely.

A blockage in the plumbing, your landlord informs you rather apathetically. It’s affecting the whole floor and it’ll take at least a day or two to get somebody out to fix it properly, leaving you without running water for the entirety of that time.

In hindsight, there were at least three other people you could have (and probably should have) called first, but he’s already answering the phone before the thought even occurs to you.

And then it’s too late to backpedal. You find yourself grateful that he can’t physically see the way you flush and fidget, pacing around your living room as you awkwardly try to explain the reason you’re calling at ten in the morning.

“Would, I mean, i-is it okay if I come over to use your shower? Just for this one time, mine kind of got interrupted this morning.”

God, from the way you stutter, stumbling over your own tongue, you’d think you were asking him to marry you. You’ve spent the night at his countless times before, but asking for a favour, even a small one like this - maybe you’re toeing an unwritten line in the sand? Bokuto isn’t with you because he loves you, he’s with you because it’s mutually beneficial for both of you, because of an agreement.

He wants fun, easy, not you saddling him with minor inconveniences. Calling to ask him to come save you, albeit from something as mundane as a lack of access to a functioning shower, feels like something you’d ask your boyfriend to do.

Not your sugar daddy.

But just as you’re about to backtrack and apologise for interrupting his morning, he speaks. “What d’you mean? Just come stay with me till it’s fixed.”

He says it with such certainty, as if it’s the most obvious solution and for a moment you’re stunned into silence. “A-are you sure? I don’t want-'' Don't want what? To be an inconvenience? A problem? “I don’t want to be in the way,” you finish lamely.

Bokuto just laughs, “Don’t be stupid, baby, of course you won’t be in the way. Just swing by the office and I can give you the keys. Or I can just get you another set made? I don’t know, we can figure it out later. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?”

And you have to admit, as apprehensive as you were stepping into his penthouse alone for the first time, showering in Bokuto’s fancy ensuite bathroom (which you’re fairly sure is bigger than your actual bedroom) is a hell of a lot nicer than doing it at home. The lotions he has are all expensive brands with french names you’ve never even heard of before, but they smell amazing and they leave your skin feeling all soft and silky. Even the shampoo he’s bought for you to use is far nicer than the one you have at home, though you’re secretly pleased that its scent’s similar - your favourite, actually.

Did he buy them knowing that or was it just a coincidence, you wonder. You never thought to ask.

Without work, or Bo for that matter, to occupy your time, you decide to take advantage of his gigantic TV, opening up Netflix and settling into his ridiculously comfortable couch…

… And wake, a few hours later to the feeling of fingers carding through your hair and a pair of lips pressing against your cheek.

Bokuto’s home, you realise with a start, and there’s drool on your chin. Face burning with embarrassment, you hastily wipe it away with the back of your palm and try to sit up, only for Bokuto’s hand to wrap around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“No, don’t get up, baby,” he says, easing down onto the couch beside you and shifting your head onto his lap so he can continue threading his fingers through your hair. “I like coming home to this.”

Still half asleep, curling up and nuzzling further into those warm, thick thighs of his, you miss the intensity of the adoration burning in golden depths as he coaxes you back to sleep.

—

The two of you are in bed, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm slung over your waist and knuckles brushing idly along your side, when Bokuto breaks the comfortable silence.

“Move in with me.”

You tense in his arms, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, you’re almost positive that you misheard him. “I-I’m sorry?” You push yourself up onto your elbow, turning your head so that you can look at him properly.

But Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “Move in with me,” he repeats, golden eyes bearing down on you.

The expression on your face is frozen halfway between disbelief and hysteria, and you’re staring at him, waiting for that stupid grin to break across his face, for him to laugh and tell you how ridiculous you look, because of course he’s joking.

He’s joking, right?

“Koutarou,” you begin slowly, “Wha- I don’t… Why would you want me to move in with you? We barely- I mean, we’re not…”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I? It makes sense. My place is bigger and nicer, and I like having you here with me. Feels right.”

It feels right??

“I-I can’t just move out of my apartment, Kou.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he huffs, “Why not? It’s a shitty apartment.”

“That’s not the point!” Knocking away the hand that reaches for you, you push yourself all the way up until you’re sitting properly. “I don’t want to move.”

Owlish eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking. “Why not? It makes perfect sense for you to move in here with me. You wouldn’t have to work at that stupid job anymore for one,” he huffs.

“Bokuto, I’m not going to quit my job,” you mutter. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Why, though?!” he explodes. “You don’t need the money, I’ve told you I can take care of you, whatever you want, baby, name it and it’s fucking yours. You don’t need to work and you don’t need that shitty little apartment!”

Like a crystal glass slipping from numb fingers, the fantasy you’ve convinced yourself you’ve been living shatters into a thousand jagged shards in the space of a single breath.

Oh, how naive you’ve been. How fucking stupid.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale deeply, “Kou, that’s not-”

Strong fingers grip your jaw, and your eyes shoot open as he tugs your face back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out, but it’s the intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, the blank expression-

“I love you.”

—

39 missed calls. 72 unread messages.

Flowers, bouquets of roses, peonies and chrysanthemums piled up by your door between boxes of chocolates and other gifts you won’t bring yourself to open.

Wide eyed, Misuzu gingerly steps over them, holding two steaming mugs in hand. “Holy fuck,” she murmurs, and for the first time since this stupid, awful mistake began, there’s not a trace of mirth to be found. “Y/N, I…”

But she doesn’t have the words, and you can’t blame her.

“He told me he loves me,” you sigh. “He asked me to move in with him and told me he loved me, and I grabbed my clothes and all but ran.” You still can’t get the image of Bokuto’s face out of your head, the raw, aching hurt swimming in his eyes as you all but stumbled over excuses in your haste to get out of there. But he didn’t lift a finger to stop you, didn’t say another word.

He just watched numbly, hunched over against the headboard as you fled.

There’s a short beat of silence between the two of you as she sets down the drinks and collapses into the chair beside you. “And… do you love him back?”

Exhaling loudly, you drop your face into your palms. “I-”

You like how he makes you feel beautiful, the filthy, wonderful praise he lavishes you in when the two of you sleep together, the way he touches you, fingers and mouth so eager to please as his cock fills you, inch by delicious inch.

You like being adored, treasured, and you liked Bo, but… you don’t love him.

That was never on the cards, that wasn’t what your relationship was.

Every line he ever crossed, every boundary he toed, you keep replaying them again and again over and over in your head like a never ending loop. You hadn’t even wanted this whole stupid sugar baby relationship to begin with, and every step of the way he was the one to coax you forward.

And you let him, swallowing down your doubts and your insecurities each and every time. You let him think that this was something else entirely…

How had you not seen this coming?

“No,” you admit.

The hand that takes yours is soft, and when you glance over with eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, Misuzu squeezes it gently. “Then end it. Walk away.”

And with your head on her shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around you, you type out a short message to Bokuto. No strings attached and no questions asked, you’d promised each other that much when you’d started this mess. You wonder if it still holds true.

I’m sorry. Clearly we were on different pages and want different things. I didn’t mean to lead you on or for things to go as far as they did, but I can’t do this with you anymore.

You send it and block his contact, and when the tears come and painful sobs rip their way free, Misuzu holds you tight and murmurs soft reassurances. It’ll pass, all breakups hurt.

—

A week after your ‘breakup’ you get a notification on your phone that money’s been transferred into your bank account.

For a moment, you think that maybe it’s an accident, a recurring transaction he’d simply forgotten to cancel (you doubt he’d even notice) until you click into the transaction itself.

It isn’t the sum itself that startles you - twice the usual amount - but the short note attached in the description.

I need to see you. Please.

You transfer the money right back into his account.

—

Without your weekly supplement from Bo, it doesn’t take long for you to come to the realisation that your current salary just barely covers rent and your bills, and if you want to eat anything other than two minute noodles in the foreseeable future, you’re going to need either more hours, or a second job.

Thankfully, the timing works out well. When you go to your boss with your most winning smile to try and convince her of your plight, she simply shrugs and agrees, having had to let one of the junior staff go only a few days before. The one catch being that instead of working a mix of morning and afternoon shifts with the occasional closing thrown in, you’re now exclusively on close, five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday.

Mostly, it doesn’t bother you. The shifts are long and you always leave feeling aching, drained and barely human, but usually it’s quiet enough, and so long as you can get the last few lingering customers out early enough, the actual close runs pretty smoothly between you and the other staff.

It’s not what you really want to be doing, but you’ve learned to make the best of it. This is adult life, and for the first time since high school, you’re supporting yourself entirely. It might not be the greatest job in the world, and there are absolutely days when you just want to throw in the towel completely, but there is a slight pride to that fact. You don’t need anybody in your life to coddle or support you, you’re figuring this shit out as you go along.

You just wish, sometimes, that you could do that without having to work until the early hours of the morning.

On paper, the kitchen closes at midnight and the last customers are supposed to be out within half an hour of that. Then, between yourself and another server, you can usually get the restaurant tidied up and closed a little after one.

You knew right from the moment you clocked on that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. The girl who’s supposed to be on close with you called in sick and your boss hasn’t bothered to replace her.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to close by yourself, but it’s still a pain, especially when the last few customers take forever to finish up and leave.

One of the kitchen staff offers to stay back, his bag slung over his shoulder, hand already on the door handle but you just shake your head with a tired smile.

“Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though,”

To his credit, he doesn’t immediately take the offered out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Without any help, it takes almost twice as long for you to finish up, and it’s a little after two when you finally flick off the lights and lock the doors.

Your feet are killing you, and all you can think about is sinking into your bed at home, burrowing into your blankets and sleeping for a week straight-

“Hey, baby.”

Leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his broad chest and eyeing you with an unreadable expression, is Bokuto.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

There's nothing inherently threatening about him being here, but it’s the middle of the night, you haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and you don’t need to glance around to know that the car park’s empty. There’s nobody in sight.

Just you and him, and the few feet of distance separating you.

“K-kou, what are you… what are you doing here?”

He smiles at that, the way his name slips from your lips, but only for a fleeting second. It fades, and a cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

“I missed you, y’know?” He pushes off the hood and takes a step towards you, “You didn’t call me.”

He’s always been bigger than you, towering over you looking like some Adonis with those rippling, powerful muscles of his. You used to like that strength, squealing in wicked delight when he’d hoist you up with a grin, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, your back shoved up against the wall so he could drive his cock deeper into ‘his pretty fuckin’ pussy’.

But that was then.

You’ve never been scared of his strength. Even that morning in the apartment, he didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or yell, he just… shut down. He wouldn’t hurt you, you know that.

That doesn’t stop you from skittering backwards like a frightened little bunny, your back hitting the wall.

The very moment you do, you watch as his eyes widen in surprise, hurt flashing for a split second-

-before they darken, his face twisting into a scowl, and you can’t escape the feeling you’ve made an awful mistake.

Dread creeps its way up your spine, tightening like a vice around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your brain is screaming at you to run, adrenaline surging through your veins, but even as your heart races and your breathing spikes, you can’t seem to move your legs.

It wouldn’t make a difference even if you could - with your back up against the literal wall, Bokuto and his car blocking your only escape route, you’re trapped; a fact that hasn’t escaped either of you.

Paralysed in fear, you can’t so much as twitch as he takes another slow, calculated step forward.

Desperately, you open your mouth - to try and placate him? To apologise? Scream for help? - but all that escapes is his name in a choked, breathless whisper.

“Bokuto…”

As he stares at you, he almost looks regretful.

Almost, if not for the grim determination resolving like steel in those golden eyes of his. “I love you, and I know you love me, too,” he says, closing the gap between you. “I’m doing this for us, baby.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere bokuto kotaro x reader #yandere bokuto koutarou #yandere bokuto kotaro #yandere bokuto koutarou x reader #tw manipulation #tw toxic behavior #tw kidnapping

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personasintro · 3 years

Text

friendly dates | knj drabble

⇢ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; friendly dates sound nice... but without the friend part it'd sound even better, too bad you're too scared to face your feelings

⇢ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, idiots to lovers au

⇢ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language

⇢ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3.7+

𝒂/𝒏: commissioned anonymously!

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ☕️ | © 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

“So where are you going for tonight's date?”

You're in the middle of trying one of the long dresses you own when your best friend speaks up from behind you, sprawled on your bed while looking at you in the reflection of your big mirror.

You give her a look, cocking your head to the side as you look at yourself again. The dress is pretty, you actually haven't worn it out yet. You've never had the opportunity since you ordered them only a week ago.

“It's not a date,” you inform her, glancing at your friend who has a subtle grin on her face. You're not surprised to hear her calling it a date, she always does this. “How do I look?”

Turning around, she eyes your outfit and overall make-up before she, like every good friend, tells you how beautiful you look. “For a usual hang out with him, you certainly do invest a lot of time and money to look perfect.”

Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips in annoyance. “Namjoon and I are just friends. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says back, snorting as you sport a deep scowl on your face. “Friends don't go out every Friday and weekend to a freaking museum or hang out in a bookstore, Y/N. I'm telling you, this is not just casual hanging out with your friend. We both know you've a thing for him and he certainly has a thing for you.”

You didn't know it's possible, but your scowl gets even deeper. Even though you've never admitted that you've a thing for Namjoon, your best friend knows you and no matter how subtle you're trying to act and appear all the time, she just knows. It's not that hard to tell. But Namjoon has never made any move and even though you don't like the stereotypical thought of men always doing the first move, this is more about your fear of getting rejected. Also, you don't think he has a thing for you.

Sure, he pays for your food or drinks whenever you hang out, no matter how many times you scold him for it. One time he borrowed you his jacket because it was late at night and it was freaking freezing. Namjoon has done many things that made your heart even weaker for him. But he's nice to everyone and you don't doubt he wouldn't do all these things to another girl. As much as it hurts, it's true.

And the fact he has never even hinted at the possibility of him liking you in a more serious way than just a friend who he likes to attend museums, art galleries or just casually hanging out in a bookstore or a library. As far you know, he doesn't have that many friends that share the same love for books and art like he does.

You both just clicked. You have the same interests and you hang out because you like spending time together. He's easy-going and you making plans with him almost every weekend has become a certainty. But of course, there are times when one of you can't hang out and that's completely fine.

“Well,” you clear your throat, straightening the casual yet elegant dress. “We're exactly that. Just two friends.”

“Oh, so you don't like him?” She presses. You know what she's trying to do, but you won't give her that satisfaction of being right.

“I like him… as a friend.” you point out, voice getting slightly deeper when you add the friend part.

You watch her narrow her eyes, thinking about something for a moment before she grins at you. “So you wouldn't mind if I told you I like Namjoon?”

Without realizing, you automatically tense and if you weren't so focused on the uncomfortable feeling in your chest, you'd notice the way the corners of her lips twitch.

“Since when do you like him like that?” You decide to exclaim, slightly louder than you intended.

Just like you, your best friend is easy-going too and has no problem hanging out with whoever. Even though museums and art galleries aren't her thing, or anything that you and Namjoon enjoy the most, she hung out with you and Namjoon a couple of times when you weren't exactly doing that. She'd sometimes join and none of you really minded it.

Her and Namjoon get along pretty well, but you've never noticed anything suspicious or something that could hint at her liking him that way. It definitely doesn't feel nice to hear her say it. She knows how you feel, she just wants to hear you say it. But you're stubborn and there's still a slight chance she might like him.

You mean… it's Namjoon after all.

“Why do you look so surprised? Maybe I do like him like that. I thought you liked him and well, like any good best friend, I just backed off. I mean… I'm not the one who's invited to art galleries and museums.”

“Art galleries and museums aren't even your thing.” you murmur, ignoring the jealousy bubble in your stomach.

“Did you just ignore everything I said? Hello,” she sings out, “I like Namjoon!” she exclaims and you stare at her dumbfounded, blinking a couple times. Trying to detect any emotion on her face, or whether she's serious or not, is hard and almost impossible because she just stares at you.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask her nonchalantly. “You want to hear that yes, I like him but I'm too scared to admit it because there's a high chance he doesn't like me like that? The last thing I want is to ruin our friendship.”

And then, slowly but surely, you see her corners twitching in a pleasant grin. “Yes, I actually wanted to hear that exactly.”

She got you. Oh my god. You can't believe it was this easy for her to make you admit it out loud. Your face heats up and you uncomfortably shift on your spot, but then you're met with her amused eyes and grin all over again.

So you grab the first thing you get your hands on, the other dress you had prepared as a back-up in case the ones you're wearing right now wouldn't be it, and you throw it at your best friend who starts cackling.

“Was that so hard to admit it?” she laughs, catching your dress and placing them next to her. She sits up, calming down as her features soften at your huffed face. “Look… first of all, I don't like Namjoon that way. You guys just fit together perfectly, it's hard to imagine someone else having that spark like the two of you have. However… how do you know there won't be someone who really likes Namjoon in the future? I don't mean to scare you, that's the last thing I want. But you should look at it from another side. Maybe telling him how you feel will make things easier.”

“Yeah, or worse.” you murmur.

She sighs, cocking her head slightly at you. “You never know if you won't try it. Trust me, I know Namjoon likes you. I can't say I'm hundred percent sure how things could end up, but I think it's worth a try. He's worth a try. Don't you think?”

“It's intimidating,” you admit, “I'm not the type to admit my feelings, especially not to a man when he's...” Perfect, attentive, friendly, cute, handsome, kind… “Him.”

“I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N. And I know seeing him with someone else might hurt even more than a rejection.”

You get the feeling she's right, even though you don't like hearing it.

“Oh my, look!”

You almost flinch at the loud and excited voice coming from Namjoon. You barely get the time to react when your wrist is gently grabbed by him as he's pulling you towards another room. He's gushing over the art and once you make it there, you finally realize why.

The room is filled with multiple paintings (of course) but the only difference is, that each painting is centred with each color. From bright white to dark colors such as burgundy and black. Yellow, green, red, pink, purple, blue… so many different colors. The whole room looks like a rainbow, each painting different and interesting.

“Wow,” you let out, completely amazed because it's not just very colorful but also eye-pleasing for everyone's eyes.

When you glance at Namjoon, his mouth is opened and eyes shining with complete amazement. He lets go of your wrist, leaving you slightly disappointed but it's not like you expected him to hold you there more than necessary.

You both move to the first painting, admiring the white art that portrays something like clouds and apparently wings that Namjoon notices and comments.

You're equally interested in Namjoon and his own comments, always finding his opinion and own take very interesting, just as you're interested in the art itself. Between doing this, your own mind is sometimes wandering off to a different topic and that is – your best friend's words from earlier. You can't help it, every time you hear him or look at him, it's like her words scream inside your mind.

It leaves you more quiet than usual, you mostly let Namjoon talk and hum to whatever he says. You're both standing in front of blue painting – an art that portrays most things when you think of the color blue. Water, waves, even air… all of those things can be seen in the very impressive painting. You like it, however that's the only thing that leaves your mouth as you glance at Namjoon, finding him already staring at you.

Your eyes automatically widen, surprised by his furrowed brows and even more when he lets out a silenced sigh, although you hear it very clearly.

“You don't like this, do you?” he suddenly asks, leaving you even more shocked. But before you can clarify or even ask him what does he mean by asking this, he's already talking again. “I know it's not a fancy art gallery. These paintings are painted by artists that aren't that much recognized. A lot of students actually painted most of these. Profits from the tickets are going straight to those artists, students included.”

You listen to him ramble, cheeks slightly going red when his chest heaves from how quickly he said it without taking a breath.

“No, no, I like this. I really like this art gallery,” you assure him quickly, “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Can I be honest?” he asks sweetly as usual, eyes flickering to you almost worriedly as you nod. He sighs again, fingers brushing his soft honey hair. “You're quieter than usual. I can't explain it, I feel like there's something wrong.”

Attentive as always, you're surprised and not actually surprised at the same time. Of course, he noticed there's something wrong. You're not sure whether you should be touched by that gesture or be embarrassed he figured it out.

“I… I'm sorry,” you murmur, hanging your head low for a moment before you sigh too, looking back at him. “It's not your fault… I'm just… I really like it here, okay? Please don't think I don't. I'm sorry, I'm awful right now. You bought us these tickets and I just ruined--”

“Hey,” he cuts you off softly, stepping closer as he respectfully places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “You haven't ruined anything. You can be honest with me… or don't be. I just want to know if you're okay. If you're not feeling it tonight, we can just take a rain-check or--”

“No,” you cut him off this time, cheeks flushing at how quick you bursted those words. “I mean--I'm really happy to be here tonight. I just talked to Amia about something and that kinda got stuck in my head.”

“Did you guys have a fight?” he asks, brows furrowing in worry as you chuckle and shake your head.

You look him in the eyes, heart softening right away as you still hear her words echoing in your head. Maybe you could tell him what bothers you without telling him he's a part of it.

“No, we didn't,” you smile, bracing yourself to finally tell him the truth. Half truth, more likely. “There's just this one guy I like… and I'm kinda scared to tell him that. Amia keeps telling me I should tell him before it's too late.”

“Oh,” he lets out, dropping his hand off your shoulder immediately as he looks a little baffled. Your smile drops at that. “You like someone?”

“Yes,” You. However, you don't finish it as he gives you a slight smile. “It's stupid… I just don't know what to do.”

“Well,” he smiles again, although you don't find it honest and sweet as usual. He takes a step back, glancing at the painting as he shrugs. “You'll think of something.”

And with that he turns around and walks to another painting, leaving you with a cracking heart and open mouth.

One thing is sure… at least you didn't tell him it's him you were talking about. Because then your heart wouldn't be just cracking but it'd actually break from such a reaction

Despite what happened, the rest of your “hanging out” is going smoothly. Namjoon keeps his main focus on the paintings and just like before, you hum in response and smile his way whenever he looks at you. But you still feel a slight uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You're not sure if you're ready to cry or not… You guess you'll find out once you get back home.

Once you're about to leave, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom, to which Namjoon responds to a light and friendly “of course”. He waits for you in the lobby, fishing out his phone from the pocket of his coat in the meantime. You don't spend that much time in the restroom, you quickly do your business and join Namjoon.

You spot him almost immediately, seeing him turned with his back to you as he has a phone clutched to his ear. You stay silent, not wanting to interrupt him but you want to make your presence known, but before you can actually walk around him for him to see you, you catch a glimpse of his conversation with whoever is on the other line.

“No, it's not a date,” he groans silently. You see him lift his arm and you guess he uses it to rub his face frustratedly. “It's just… a friendly date, alright? Look, she likes someone.”

Your breath catches in your throat and for a second, you're sure you forgot how to breathe as you listen to his conversation.

“No, it's okay… I didn't exactly make it known. No, seriously. Taehyung stop--we're just friends. Nothing else.”

You bite onto your lower lip, hearing Namjoon bidding a goodbye to his friend. You take that opportunity to quickly take a few steps and stop beside him when he notices your presence. He flinches, staring at you with big eyes as he looks around himself.

“Sorry, it was Tae…” he lets out. You're not sure why he is apologizing. “He actually recommended this art gallery to me.”

He is rambling.

But you just stare at him, not really sure what to make out of his phone call. There's no doubt he was talking about you, but you're kind of puzzled what to think of it. He looks nervous, you notice right away when he keeps glancing from your eyes whenever your eye contact exceeds five seconds.

“How--how much did you hear?” he asks suddenly, gulping slightly.

You realize he knows you must've heard something. You can't see yourself, you don't even realize your features are scrunched in confusion but curiosity at the same time, but Namjoon sees it all and he almost cringes when he asks you about the phone call.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you apologize immediately, giving him a crooked smile. “I didn't hear much if that's what you're scared of. I mean… you haven't said anything that we both already didn't know.”

“What?” he breathes out.

“Well, you said we're just friends, right? That's what we are… and this,” you motion with your finger between you and him and around you, “Is just a friendly date.”

Your features turn sour, betraying you as Namjoon narrows his eyes and scans your face. He's always been very smart and you can already see the wheels turning in his head. Or it’s the bitter chuckle you let out that makes him think that you do sound almost hurt to hear him say that.

And when he looks up, the look he gives you almost scares you (not because he looks mad or something) but because he looks as if he already knows what you’re thinking. The possibility scares you and you curse at yourself for opening your mouth. You should’ve kept it shut while you had the chance.

“Somehow, you don’t seem too pleasant with that.” he tells gently, tilting his head slightly which makes your throat dry.

“With what?” you mutter. You’re stalling, knowing he already caught onto that but you act as if you didn’t know.

“With me saying that we’re just friends and this is a friendly date,” he still answers. “Would it be too bad if I said I’d be more happy without that friendly part?”

Wait—

“What?” you breathe out, eyes widening immediately. Did you hear him right?

“You know why Taehyung called me? Do you want to know what he told me?” he asks, chuckling a little at the end as he doesn’t wait for your answer. “He was trying to encourage me to tell you the truth. But I told him I can’t do that because there’s someone else in your life that you like.”

“And what is the truth, Joon?” you almost whisper, figuring out where this is going and you can’t believe it — not until you hear him say it out loud and confirm your deepest desire.

“Come on, you’re smart. You already know.” he offers softly, giving you a pained smile.

“Maybe I do want to know,” you ponder for a moment, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I’m a freaking coward for not telling you sooner and for always backing away whenever I had the chance to tell you how I feel.”

Your insides tremble with happiness and shock at the same time, your mouth opened and lips stretching to the biggest smile but that’s until you let out a big laugh. Namjoon looks confused, tips of ears already getting read from embarrassment. Thinking he feels the same fear of rejection that you felt at the idea of confessing, you quickly explain yourself.

“We’re both so stupid,” you shake your head, an amused grin playing on your lips as you take a step closer to Namjoon. He watches you with big curious eyes, not moving an inch. “You’re the guy I talked about. I like you too, Joon. All these evenings and days spent with you… I can’t imagine doing it with someone else. And Amia told me I should tell you but I feared you don’t see me the same way. Joon, I think we’re both idiots and cowards.”

He stares at you for a moment, not moving before he suddenly wraps his arms around your frame and hugs you tightly.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers as you giggle, hugging him back. “All this time you liked me back?”

“Of course. I thought you wouldn’t like me back, you never made it known. You’re always sweet to anyone and apart from being the same old and amazing Namjoon, I wouldn’t be able to even guess that there’s a chance you like me.”

“Of course, I like you. You’re smart, funny and goofy. I genuinely like spending time with you.” he tells you, pulling away so you can see his honest eyes full of adoration.

Namjoon notices how skeptical you look, almost as if you don’t believe him and that’s why he decides to finally man up and take matters into his own hands. One step and he’s so close to you that your chests almost brush as you stare at him with big eyes. He cups your face, watching how your eyes grow even wider but that’s all you can do — just stare at him and thinking how this look, because it looks like he’s about to—

And then he connects your lips in an innocent kiss, soft and tender that you almost think as if you just imagined it but when you close your eyes, he’s there gently pulling away. Your lips tingle with excitement, happiness and shock at the same time and when Namjoon notices your flustered face, he chuckles.

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too straightforward of me,” he says, features slightly twisting to worried eyes when you don’t respond and just stare at him.

Did he really kiss you? He kissed you. Namjoon kissed you.

“I’ve been meaning to do that every time we hung out.”

“I—wow,” you breathe out, fingers slightly grazing over your lips as you smile at Namjoon. “I guess we’re both cowards. If I told you sooner too, we could’ve kissed way sooner.”

That makes Namjoon laugh, a genuine laugh as he reaches for your face and gently strokes your cheek.

“Can I take you on a date? A real date that we both consider a date?” he pleads.

Your heart is jumping with happiness, hands slightly trembling as you let out a nervous giggle. But then you reach for his hands, squeezing them while all he can see in your eyes is genuine happiness. However, it’s Namjoon’s turn to look slightly nervous as he shifts on his spot but doesn’t usher you to give him an answer. He is patient, looking at you with fondness and honesty.

And when you finally open your mouth to respond, you see the most beautiful dimpled smile that makes your whole chest tingle with so much love. Maybe it’s too soon to call it that but you already know what you’re feeling, so your answer is more than clear.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#networkbangtan #ficswithluv #bts smut #bts fluff #bts au #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #personasintro

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Errol (Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Cheating, Infidelity, Break-ups, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Secretly In Love, Angst, Sex, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Dom/Sub, Ovipositor, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Babies, Eggs, Egg Laying Words: 7887

A commission for @anjhope1! After catching her fiance cheating, the reader breaks up with him and goes home miserable. The ex-fiance's brother, Errol, arrives on his brother's order to get his things from her apartment, but Errol is more interested in taking care of the reader and making sure she's okay. It leads to some confusing feelings and a confession. Please reblog leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

You’d had your suspicions for a while, but it wasn’t until you got the message on social media from a girl he’d dated and dumped who had photographic proof of it that you finally had to face the truth.

Your fiance was cheating on you.

Eric was a naga and had been with you for more than five years. He had asked you to marry him, ring and all, on New Years Eve with his family. He had made a big show of it, too. And now, you were going to have to confront him about being a cheating bastard.

The woman who had been dumped told you that he was now dating her friend, and she had gotten the room number where they were supposed to meet. You got to the hotel with your heart in your throat and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” That was definitely Eric’s voice. He had told you that his friend needed help moving and that he’d be staying over to help him. What a good friend he was.

You deepened your voice in an effort to mask it. “Room service.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if you were ever going to come,” Eric said, and the door swung open. As soon as he saw you, the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“No, wait--”

“Hey, babe, did they bring the right wine this time?” A female voice said from inside.

You took off your ring and threw it in his face and called inside the room, “You can have the bastard.” And walked away.

“Wait, please, this isn’t what you think,” Eric said, slithering quickly down the hall to catch you. He grabbed your arm and you wrenched it violently out of his grasp.

“Babe, who’s this?” The woman said. She was human and pretty, you guessed.

“I’m his fiance,” You retorted. “Oh, sorry, ex-fiance. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“What the fuck, Eric?!” She shouted at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rachel, it’s not…” He stuttered. “It isn’t…”

Rachel slapped him and pushed past you toward the elevator, not looking back.

“Babe--” He started, turning back toward you.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’ you son of a bitch. Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you waste five fucking years of my life?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do! I want an explanation. Was the sex bad? Do you not love me anymore? Are you just the type of person who has to have a side-chick? What? What about this is good for you? What about all this made destroying our relationship worth it?”

He groaned and scratched his head with both hands. “I… It… I can be anything I want to be with those girls, you know? If I say I’m rich, then I’m rich. If I say I’m successful, then I’m successful, and they don’t know better. They don’t know I have a shitty job that I hate. They don’t know that my girlfriend makes twice as much money as me, that she’s popular with people and everyone likes her better than me, even my own fucking family. They don’t know what a fucking loser I am.”

“And that’s my fucking fault?!” You screamed at him. “You know what you could have done instead of ruining a five year relationship? Gotten fucking therapy! Or, better yet, talked to me about it! I have been nothing but supportive of you. I have encouraged you to leave your job and find a better one. I told you I would support you until you found something that made you happy. You could have gone back to school or done and apprenticeship or vocational work, whatever, and I’d have been there! You could do whatever you wanted, and I would have helped you, and you know that!”

“Right, because you so fucking perfect, huh?” He yelled back. “It’s not enough that you rub your perfect job in my face every day and go around spending whatever you want because you don’t have to worry about money, but you also have to be perfectly supportive and perfectly giving and perfectly loving, too, right? How am I supposed to feel good about myself when you’re always better than me at everything?”

“So, it’s my fault you’re cheating on me because I’m a good girlfriend? Is that what you’re saying to me? I’m too fucking nice, so you had to put your dick in random women to feel better about yourself?” You raised your hands as if surrendering and shook your head in disbelief. “You know what? Fucking forget me. Forget our relationship, forget getting married, forget you ever knew me, forget my fucking face, don’t ever come to my house, don’t ever message me again, delete my number from your phone. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist to you, because you sure as shit don’t exist to me anymore.” You turned to leave.

“What about my stuff?” He protested.

“Send your brother to come get your shit,” You said without turning. “If you set foot on my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. I’m not fucking around. I’m so fucking glad you never moved in when I offered. ”

“So that’s it?” He said as you waited for the elevator to come back up. “You’re not even willing to work this out? It’s just over?”

“Get fucked, Eric,” You said, stepping into the elevator. “Oh wait, you already did. Do yourself a favor and sell that ring to pay for a therapist.” And the door closed on him.

As soon as the elevator started to move, you hit the floor and sobbed. Why? Why was he like this? You thought everything was perfect up until a few months ago, and you hadn’t know he felt like this. He always seemed happy. How were you supposed to know otherwise if he never said anything?

How you got back home, you didn’t know, because you didn’t remember it. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer and didn’t even bother with a glass. For about an hour, you just sat there disheveled on your couch, crying and drinking.

Sometime later, there was a sheepish knock on your door. You hoped to God that it wasn’t Eric, but when you opened the door, Errol was there. Errol, Eric, and their sister Enya, were all from the same clutch of eggs, so he looked a lot like his brother in that they all had white, black, gold scales, golden eyes, cream colored skin, and blond hair. Errol was a bit larger that Eric, and where Eric wore his hair short, Errol kept his long and braided back. You always thought that it made him look elegant, despite his size. He was still wearing his work clothes, as if he’d just come from his construction job.

You and Errol hadn’t spent much time together alone, since Eric was a little jealous of other men. He’d always been very nice to you, though, and liked you just as well as the rest of his family. He’d even given you advice a few times in the past when you and Eric were fighting.

“Can I come in?” He asked, wincing.

“Did you know?” You asked him, your throat raw and hoarse from crying.

“No, I didn’t know,” He said solemnly.

“Don’t bullshit me, Errol,” You replied harshly.

“I swear I didn’t know. I would have told you, I promise. My brother can be an asshole, but I never thought he would do something like this.” Errol grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You retorted, your voice shaking as the tears returned. “If you’ve come to get his stuff, just get it and leave.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about his stuff, I’m here for you,” Errol said. He held up a couple of plastic bags. “I brought take out and ice cream.”

“I’m not hungry,” You said vaguely, but you moved aside to let him in.

“I got alcohol, too,” He said as he slithered inside. “I could make you a Bailey’s float.”

You sighed and sniffled. “Okay.”

You sat at your table as he bustled around making the drink, laying your tear-flushed face on the cool surface of the wood.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked weepily with your cheek pressed against the table.

“Nothing,” Errol said as he lay the glass in front of you, moving a chair so that he could coil up next to the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did he do it?” You asked, sitting up and taking a watery bite of the ice cream. “Why wasn’t I enough? He said ‘girls,’ which means there’s probably more than the two I know about. How long has he been doing this? Our whole relationship?”

“When he called me to come over here and get his stuff for him, I asked. I’m not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he said it’s only been the last year.” Errol snorted derisively. “Only.”

“How many girls?” You asked.

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. He kept trying to get me to side with him, but…” Errol rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying anything he says right now.”

“Did he do this to his other girlfriends?”

“Well, you were his first serious girlfriend,” Errol said. “Before you, he only dated casually, so it was never a problem. When he said he really loved you, I thought he meant it.”

“Yeah.” Your lip quivered and you stabbed the spoon into your float. “Me too.”

Errol reached out and pulled you into a tight hug, which you sank into and let loose again, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Errol whispered into your hair.

At some point, Errol put you to bed. You were exhausted and drunk and just wanted to sleep, so he lay you down and left you to it.

When the morning came, you felt like your head had been run over with a truck. You decided to get some coffee going before taking a shower, but to your surprise, Errol was still there. He was in the kitchen on the phone, his hair out of it’s usual braid and tumbling down his shoulders.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Errol said. You immediately realized he was talking to his brother. “No, I’m not picking up your shit. I don’t care if she burns it all.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear Eric speaking. “No… No, you’re full of shit. Do you know what a good thing you had? Do you have any idea what I would give to have what you just shit on? …fuck no, I’m not going to talk her into taking you back, are you insane?! Get over yourself… No… No, it’s not happening, you can go fuck yourself right now… Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Errol hung up and turned, startled to realize you were standing there. “Oh, hey,” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” You replied honestly. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, you were in bad shape last night and I didn’t want to leave you alone. I slept on the couch, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” You said. “I was just going to make coffee.”

“Oh, I already made some,” He said, going to the coffee pot and pouring you a mugful. “I figured you could use it. I’ve got breakfast coming too, something greasy to absorb all that alcohol.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” You said, sipping the coffee. It was really good, but not your normal brand, though it tasted very familiar. Actually, now that you thought about it, you always drank the gross coffee Eric liked. This was a nice change. “I’m going to take a shower and wash last night off of me. Are you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” He said, turning to pull down plates and prepare for breakfast.

You were about to turn to the bathroom but stopped. “Errol.”

He looked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for… thanks.”

He smiled at you. “It’s no problem at all.”

You took your shower with your head pressed against the tile. Why couldn’t you just forget? Why couldn’t you put all of it out of your mind and stop thinking about it? What would it take to make the pain stop?

The water was cold by the time you got out, and when you went back into the kitchen, the food had arrived and Errol had everything set out on the table. He looked up anxiously when you came in.

“You okay?” He said, concerned. “You were in there for a worryingly long time. I was thinking about going in there if you hadn’t come out in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine, but you know.”

“Yeah,” He said sympathetically. “Try to eat. All you had last night were two bites of ice cream and a lot of alcohol.”

You picked up your fork and speared a sausage. “I must look horrible.”

“Nope, not possible,” He said, tucking into his own plate of food. “A person can look tired and cute at the same time, you know.”

You snorted, prodding your puffy face gently. “You’re too nice. Maybe I should have dated you instead.”

He laughed. “You know, it’s actually kinda funny, I was going to ask you out back in college before you started dating Eric.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he kind of sniped you, if I’m being honest.”

“I never knew that,” You said. “Did he know you wanted to ask me out?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him,” He said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “I told him there was a girl at my college who always went to this one coffee shop near campus, and I told him I was going buy you your favorite coffee and cookies as an icebreaker.”

Your head rocked back. “That’s exactly what he did when he asked me out.”

Errol tsked sardonically. “Yeah. I know.”

You scoffed. “Wow, what an absolute asshole.”

Errol shrugged and smiled. “Ancient history now. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” You said as he filled your cup. “This is really good, what is it?”

“Orange and almond mocha.”

You cocked your head. “Wait… isn’t that the blend I drank at the coffee shop? It used to be my favorite.”

“I know,” He said. “I ordered some. I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. The shit that Eric drinks is revolting.”

“That’s definitely true,” You said, looking at Errol closely. “You remembered what my favorite coffee blend was from five years ago?”

Errol looked up at you. His face seemed carefully blank.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s no big deal.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “I should get going, I have work in a few hours. Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to take some personal days.”

Errol nodded.”That’s a good idea. I’ll call later to check on you, okay? If you need anything, just text me.”

“Okay,” You said, feeling a little off-balance.

Errol smiled and let himself out, and you were left standing there, staring after him as an overwhelming sense of realization hit you like a freight train.

…did I date the wrong brother all this time?

Later in the day, Eric called. You almost weren’t going to pick up, but you decided to see what he had to say for himself now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“What do you want?” You said brusquely.

“Why did my brother spend the night at your house last night?” Eric said immediately.

“...excuse me?” You replied, incredulous.

“You heard me. What the fuck was he doing there?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“What do you mean, it’s not my business? He’s my brother and you’re my fiance!”

“Ex-fiance,” You corrected him. “First of all, you are the one who told him to come over in the first place. Secondly, I was not obviously doing well last night and he stayed to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid or die in my sleep of alcohol poisoning. And third, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know he’s in love with you.”

Your head snapped back in agitation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? Ms. Perfect doesn’t know that my asshole brother has had a crush on you for years?”

“You’re full of shit, Eric,” You retorted. “Don’t drag Errol into this.”

“Did you just decide to fuck my brother to get back at me, is that it?”

“Fuck you, Eric!” You hung up the phone and hit the floor, a wave of anguish washing you again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to make everything worse?

The phone rang again, and it was Eric. You decided to block him and be done with it. You got a notification from Facebook, and then Twitter, and then Instagram, all from Eric. Every new notification made your anxiety rise higher and higher until you were balled up on the floor, sobbing again. In desperation, she dialed Errol’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please help,” She begged, weeping. “He won’t leave me alone. He keeps messaging me and calling me. I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Errol said. He sounded angry.

“Can you come over? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’m going to turn off my phone.”

“That’s a good idea,” He said. “If I need to, I can message you on your gaming console.”

“Okay,” You said. “Bye.”

He hung up with you and you turned your phone off, sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the blissful silence, unable to get up.

Was that true? Could it be possible that Errol had been in love with you the whole time you’d been dating Eric? He said he’d wanted to ask you out. He remembered tiny details, like what your favorite coffee had been. He made you your favorite dessert when you were miserable without even having to ask what it was. He stayed overnight to make sure you didn’t get hurt or hurt yourself. He bought breakfast and defended you. He didn’t have to do any of that. He was just your fiance’s brother. Ex-fiance.

He arrived shortly after you called him. As soon as he entered the house, before he had a chance to say anything, you reached up, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. For a second or two, there was no reaction, but then he leaned into the kiss, deepening it, savoring it, before abruptly putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“...why did you do that?” He asked you, his face grim.

“Eric told me,” You said. “He said you’ve been in love with me the entire time I was dating him. Is that true?”

Errol looked down and away. “Look--”

“You told Eric on the phone that you’d have given anything to have what he had. You meant me, right?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Errol, look at me!” You shouted.

It seemed to take a lot of will, but Errol’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours. They were pleading with you.

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunched as if he were in pain and he swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t…

“Don’t…lie to me,” You said in a tense whisper, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you?”

Tears began to gather in his own eyes. His response was barely audible.

“…yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I first saw you in the coffee shop.”

You tried to press forward to kiss him again, but he held you firm, sniffing. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“But I don’t want to be used to get revenge on my brother,” He whispered back, his voice strangled and uneven. “It’s not good for you and it’s not fair to me. You know that.”

Your face crumpled. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, unable to look at him anymore. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want him in my head.”

Finally, Errol pulled you into a hug.

“I know,” He said. His body was tense, as if he were restraining himself. “We can revisit this later. Much later.”

“When?” You asked piteously.

“Not now. Not soon. You need time to heal and I… need to think.”

“I’m sorry, Errol,” You cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw it.”

He laughed slightly. “It’s not your fault. I got really good at hiding it. And Eric always kept you at arms length from me. I think he was afraid I’d steal you away or something.”

He let you go and you stepped away, looking at the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was using you,” You said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He put his hand under his chin and made you look up at him, his thumb stroking your cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved the secret is out now. Tiptoeing around you and Eric was exhausting. The engagement was my worst nightmare, because it meant I’d have to just suffer in silence forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s over for both our sakes, then,” You said, attempting to smile.

He smiled too, but it was very soft. Gentle. “I don’t… think it’s a good idea for us to hang out together much from now on, at least for a while,” He said, letting go. “But… we can text. We can call. If you need anything, I’m always here for you. That’s always been true.”

You nodded. “I know.” You sighed and took another step back. “I’m going to miss you.”

His smile widened sadly. “I’m not far, but… I know what you mean.”

With the both of you in tears, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Thirty seconds after he left, however, you got a text.

>Are you okay?

You smiled through your tears, feeling glad and grateful that he was still communicating with you. >No. But I think I will be.

>Good.

>Are you okay? You asked in return.

>Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. This was a lot at once.

>Yeah, no kidding. I think I may see a therapist to help me out.

>That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should too.

>I think everyone should at least once.

>Yeah. Do you need anything?

>No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, Errol.

>It’s my pleasure.

Some time passed. You and Errol talked and texted every single day. Neither of you brought up dating each other and carefully avoided affectionate language. He wanted you to heal and you wanted to give him a fair chance without the cloud of his brother hanging over you.

Talking to him was effortless, like talking to yourself. You each had your own tastes and dislikes, but you both loved a lot of the same things and had similar desires. You both loved your jobs, enjoyed the same music, gushed over books you’d read, and liked playing board games. One of your favorite things to do was watch movies remotely over Zoom. It was almost like being on a date, even if you couldn’t be together.

As hard as you tried not to, you compared everything Errol did to Eric. Even still, it was obvious that Errol had always been better suited to you than Eric ever was. It was abundantly clear that you had indeed been dating the wrong brother the entire time.

On what was supposed to be your anniversary with Eric, Errol sent you a link to play a horror game with him. Errol hated anything horror, so instead of spending the day crying and drinking and cursing Eric for being alive, you got to laugh the whole day at how loud Errol screamed when he was startled. It ended up being a wonderful day.

You did see a therapist, as did Errol, and the two of you would talk about your sessions with each other, sharing the advice the counselors had given you. He also sent you gifts through delivery, like the coffee you loved and your favorite treats. Whenever you’d had a bad day or had to deal with Eric due to post-breakup business, a treat would arrive the next day, and it always put a smile on your face.

You were worried that all the time apart might change how Errol felt, but he never wavered. You woke up every day to a text saying good morning, and went to bed after talking to him for at least an hour about your day. After a month, you realized that a day or two would go by when you wouldn’t think of Eric at all. You hadn’t thought that would be possible when you first broke up with Eric, and he did still haunt your thoughts most of the time, but the respite from the emotional distress of thinking of him, even for a short time, was wonderful.

Three months after the breakup and his confession, you, Errol, and your therapists all decided that you were ready to date again. That same day, Errol showed up on your doorstep with flowers. The sight of him was like breathing fresh air after being underwater.

“Hi,” He said, smiling brightly.

“Hi,” You replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. He reciprocated without hesitation.

“So…” He said, not letting go. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Yes,” You said, cuddling him closer.

He pulled back and kissed you for a very long time, tasting your lips and teasing his tongue just inside your mouth. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and just looked at your face, touching your cheeks with his fingertips. Eventually he stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Dating him was amazing. He knew everything there was to know about you, so he took you to places you loved, to all your favorite restaurants, to concerts he knew you’d enjoy. It was like you’d been dating for years already, even though it was just a few weeks. You made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but he was careful about being intimate too quickly, though, still fearful about being a rebound. You respected that.

You were already talking about the future, though. You both wanted to get married eventually and to be parents before you turned thirty. Before breaking up, you had been talking about having kids with Eric, which was something he had expressed interest in during the start of your relationship, but recently he had been making excuses, like he didn’t have enough in savings or he didn’t feel ready. You guessed you knew why now.

You were worried that his family would be angry with you for ending your relationship with Eric and dating Errol, but they seemed completely understanding. It was likely they were also aware that Errol had been in love with you forever, and the fact that Eric cheated on you wasn’t something they were proud of. You were still warmly invited to all the family gatherings with Errol, and while having Eric there was a little awkward, his seething anger at seeing you happy with Errol was the best revenge you could have asked for.

“They let everyone in the office have the day off. Do you want to hang out today?” You asked Errol one night after about a month and a half of dating.

“Ordinarily I’d love to, but I’m feeling kinda weird today. Squishy. I think I’m going to have my period soon.”

He wasn’t being hyperbolic; nagas with male sex organs both created the eggs and fertilized them, but they didn’t have a womb or cavity in their bodies where the eggs could incubate, which is why they needed people with uteruses to propagate the species. It took a month for the eggs to develop inside them, but after that, they could implant them into another person’s body at any time they chose. However, after a year, the eggs died naturally and were expelled from their bodies, therefore, male nagas experienced periods once a year. Eric usually went to a specialized facility where the eggs would be humanely disposed of.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it rather soon for that.”

“I went into heat last week. The eggs usually die quickly after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You said. “Why did you go into heat? That typically only happens when nagas in a sexual relationship with someone, right?”

“That, and if you’re experiencing extreme sexual needs that aren’t being met.”

“Oh. Ohhh…” You hissed in a breath. “Is it because of me?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” He reassured you. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

You were silent for a moment of deep contemplation. He seemed to sense you were thinking about something.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Do you think the eggs are still viable?”

It was his turn to be silent. “Um… maybe. Probably. I think it’ll be another week before I need to go in to evacuate them. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking…” You said slowly. “We both said we wanted kids. And I know we’re just starting out, and this is super sudden, and it probably doesn’t even make sense to do this now, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but… oh, god, I’m rambling…” You sighed heavily. “If you’d like, we can wait until next year when we’ve been together for longer, but… it just seems like this is a good opportunity. It… feels right, you know what I mean? If that’s what you want.”

He took another moment of silence to think really hard about what you were saying. “Are you sure about this, honey?” He asked you finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” You said resolutely. “I love you, and I’m in a good place, both emotionally and financially. I’m ready to be a mom. I have been for years.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Is this something you want? I mean… I totally understand if it isn’t. If you want to wait, that’s fine with me. I just… I want to do this.”

His voice turned sultry. “You really want my eggs?”

You grinned and bit your lip. You’d learned through hints in conversations you had with him that he had a little bit of a breeding and pregnancy kink.

“Yeah. But we should act fast if we want them to take.”

“I’ll be right over,” He said, and the phone clicked.

You immediately went into the bathroom to get ready, feeling nervous. There was a weight of expectation on you, not just because you were talking about getting pregnant, but also because of how long Errol had wanted to be with you. You were scared that you wouldn’t live up to his expectation.

He arrived shortly after, looking excited and nervous. You pulled him into your arms and kissed him. He was shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He said, touching your face reverently. “I’ve just… I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

You smiled softly at him. “Come on.” You took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed.

Once in the room, he pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, more probing, his body pressed flush against yours.

“I’m not sure how to… begin…” He said. “I don’t know what you like and don’t like yet.”

“We can learn as we go,” You said. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Well, what do you like? Do you have any kinks I should know about?”

You laughed. “I have a few, I guess.”

“Tell me about one,” He said.

Instead of telling, you knelt down and sat on your knees with your butt resting on your feet, perched forward on your hands, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You asked, biting your lip.

His eyebrows rose and a startled smile spread across his face. “Oh,” He said. Slowly, he took off his long shirt, exposing his torso and the slit on his lower abdomen, usually closed and imperceptible from his scales, but now swollen and puckered slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair where you were crouched on the floor and came close, so that his slit was near your face.

“Touch it for me, sweetie,” He said.

Gently, you circled one finger around the slit, feeling it pulse under your touch. He exhaled sharply and his head fell back, his braid swinging. With your forefinger and middle finger, you stroked it up and down, watching it open slowly. You leaned forward and kissed it, and he spasmed, groaning.

Gradually, two dicks emerged from his slit, a long, thin one with a spear-like head, and a shorter, thick one with a bulbous head. You knew each had a different purpose. Normally, the thin one would be retracted so that nagas could just enjoy sex, but the thin one was an ovipositor. It’s what implanted the eggs. You knew not to touch it, since it secreted a numbing agent that made implanting the eggs easier.

“Now?” You asked.

“Not yet,” He said. “You’re not ready yet. Stand up.”

You obeyed, and he began to undress you. You started to help, but he said, “No, no, let me do it.”

You put your arms back down and let him peel your clothes off. And then he just looked at you.

“Stand still,” He said. “Stay quiet.”

You nodded, obeying.

“Good girl,” He whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

He started with your shoulders, letting his fingers run over your skin, down your arms, up your sides, caressing your breasts, down your belly, and reached one hand between your legs. You gasped.

“Shh,” He said. “Stay silent.”

It was a hard order to follow, as he touched your pearl and massaged it slowly, running a finger inside your slit as he did. Your breathing was uneven and you had to bite a finger, but you managed to be quiet.

“You can make all the noise you want soon,” He promised seductively. “I just want to test how good you can be for me.”

You nodded again, your body shivering at his touch.

He brought his face very close to yours, so that your lips were mere millimeters apart, but stopped short of actually kissing you. You could feel his cool breath on your neck and chest, and it made your heart race.

“You’re getting there,” He said, pushing a finger inside your entrance. You inhaled, but bit down on your cheek to stay silent.

“Good girl,” He said, pulling his finger out. "Lay face down on the bed and lift your ass up. Spread your legs open.”

You nodded again and followed his orders, doing exactly what he asked of you. He slithered up behind you and went back to touching between your legs with one hand, the other sliding up and down your spine. You felt him sink down and kiss your thighs.

“You can moan for me, darling,” He said.

You were happy to obey, and whimpered against your pillow as he licked a long stripe from behind, kneading your buttocks as he did. He moaned as he sucked on you, your legs shaking. He pressed his thumb into you as he sucked, and you thought you were going to cum. He stopped just before that happened, leaving you feeling desperate.

“Good,” He said. “You’re perfect.” He crawled over you from the back so that his face was next to yours and he kissed you. “Are you still sure about this? We can just have sex, I don’t have to breed you.”

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about what I want right now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” You simpered. “I want it. Give them to me. Please. I want them.”

He bit his lip, looked at you like you were something he wanted to eat, and grinned. “Good girl.” He went out of view then, and you felt his hands on your hips.

“Be still,” He said. “Let me in.”

You nodded, and felt the slim tube enter your body. The anesthetic began working immediately, so you only had a vague sensation of it pushing all the way in, penetrating your womb, and fixing itself there.

“Are you hurting, love?” He asked as he lay over you, putting his arm under your head so that you could lay on it and resting his body on top of you. Your hips were still in the air and your stomach wasn’t touching the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” You replied.

“Good,” He said, sounding a bit strained, his body tensing. His stuttering breath blew through your hair. “It’s starting.”

He grunted, but you couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. His breathing was sharp and punctuated as the egg moved down through the ovipositor and into you. You could feel a small swell in your stomach, but it wasn’t painful. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and relaxed and shuddered, gasping.

“Did it hurt?” You asked.

“Not exactly,” He replied a little breathlessly. “It feels good, but it’s also a bit of work to push it out. Sorry this isn’t as sexy as you might have hoped.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” You replied, nuzzling him. “It’s like a special kind of foreplay. Besides, I’m really enjoying all the sounds that are coming out of you.”

“I can feel that,” He said, laughing. “You keep squeezing me.” He tensed again and started grunting, hugging you tightly.

“You’re doing great,” You told him.

“This is… harder than I thought it would be,” He said stiltedly. You could feel the sweat from his brow dripping on your skin.

“You can do it,” You said, kissing his arm as it gripped you and biting his thumb. “How many do you think there are?”

“I think three,” He said. He exhaled forcefully, and you felt another swell slip into you as he panted.

“One more, honey,” You said. “Deep breaths.”

He snickered, and then groaned. “Okay…” He said. He gripped you hard as the last one came and passed through. You were beginning to feel a full sensation in your belly and felt glad this was the last one.

Once it was out, the ovipositor retracted and he flopped onto the bed, gasping like a fish.

“Whoa,” He said. “Laying them in a person is way different than disposing of them.”

“How so?” You asked, moving to lie on your side so that you could touch him. He was clammy and cold.

“That felt great,” He said, looking over at you and smiling. “Like, it hurt a bit, but it felt like a small orgasm every time.”

“Probably a biological incentive to procreate,” You said, kissing his chest and neck.

He snorted. “Probably.” He looked at you with his eyes half lidded. “It’s going to be a few minutes until you get the feeling back down there. Why don’t you spend some time and play with me?”

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“Do you want me to punish you?” He asked.

“Maybe I’ll like it,” You said with a smirk.

He took you by the chin and made you look down at the second, larger cock, which was still erect and bobbing. “Touch me.”

You went down and sat astride his tail so that he could watch you take his cock in your hand, and begin to slowly pump it up and down.

“Hmm, that’s good,” He said with a satisfied sigh. “Let me know when your feeling comes back. We don’t want to waste time.”

“I will,” You said, stroking him. Your stomach felt tight, so you rubbed it as you touched him, drawing his eye. He watched you hungrily.

“I can’t believe you did that,” He said, smiling at you.

“We’re only half-way there,” You told him. “Don’t get too excited.”

He bucked his tail and nearly knocked you over onto the bed, making you shriek and laugh.

After a few minutes of teasing and touching and good-natured laughter, the feeling began to return. You started rocking on his tail to be sure, and realized that you were extremely sensitive.

“It’s back?” He asked

You nodded, pleasuring yourself against his body.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed, and he moved to lay on top of you, his tail between your legs and his slit lining up with yours, kissing you deeply and rolling your nipples in his fingers. He pushed himself inside you as he kissed you, careful not to go too deep, as the ovipositor had made you a little sore. You rolled your body against his in time with his thrusts. You were so sensitive that you could already feel the crest of ecstasy beginning to wash over you.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m so happy.”

“I love you,” You replied, your hands in his hair as he moved inside you with purpose, precision. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

He stopped immediately, and you groaned shrilly, the sensation of denial sending a shiver up your back.

“Not yet,” He said, biting your lower lip. “Not until I say. Be a good girl.”

You nodded, panting and trembling, but your body was betraying you, writhing desperately against him, trying to regain the friction.

“Be still,” He said. “I’m not going to move again until you be still.”

You squealed in need, but you did your best to make your body stop clutching at him. It took a minute, but you managed to settle down.

“Good,” He said, slowly moving inside you again. “Good girl.”

“Cum inside me,” You begged. “Please.”

“I will,” He said, kissing you. “When I want to. Be patient and I’ll reward you.”

Your body was wound so tightly that you thought you were going to explode, practically vibrating underneath him. The sight of it made him grin.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, licking your earlobe, still keeping the maddeningly slow pace. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You groaned. “Yes, please. Errol, please.”

He thrust sharply, but not hard, and you nearly came undone. You cried out, about to snap like a string.

“Are you always going to be a good girl for me?” He whispered sinfully.

“Yes!”

“Do you promise me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Say ‘I promise.’”

“I promise, I promise, please!”

His thrusts became targeted again. “Beg me some more.”

“Errol, please! Please let me cum, please!” You cried. Every muscle, every nerve in your body was screaming for release.

“You can cum when I tell you to,” He said, though his movements were extremely efficient now. He was very good at drawing this out.

“I can’t take it, please!” You begged.

“One more time, say you love me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I love you! I love you so much! Please!”

From there, he wasted no time, slamming himself into you with speed. In no time at all, you were a screaming, shaking mess underneath him, thanking him over and over. The tension in his body and the sudden shout and moaning from him told you that he had reached his peak too.

“Not yet,” He gasped, rearing up. “I’m not done yet.”

He had leaned up so that he could look down at you and put his hand on your stomach, feeling the new hardness there. He kept going, pistoning against your body, snapping his hips against you, and rode the wave for a second time, all focus and concentration.

The both of you came one final time before he collapsed on the bed beside you, sucking in air as hard as you were. For a few minutes, all you could do was breathe.

After some time, he left the bed and went into the bathroom, and you heard the water in the tub running. You were barely conscious when he came back and lifted you out of the bed, taking you into the bathroom, and lay you down in the warm water of the bath. You were so tired and boneless that you could hardly raise your head, so he carefully, lovingly washed your body, paying special attention to your belly.

“Are you alive?” He asked after some time of sitting next to the tub, watching you drift in and out.

“I think so,” You replied, opening your eyes to smile sleepily at him. “Do you think they took?”

“We won’t know for a while. You should take it easy until then.” He smoothed the hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. “You’re going to have my babies,” He said, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” You said, taking his hand and kissing the palm.

“Eric is going to be pissed,” Errol said, snickering.

You snorted. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about him once today. This isn’t about him.”

Errol kissed you. “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s about us.” He lay his hand on your stomach and smiled gently. “All of us.”

Only one of the eggs took, but that was okay. Errol’s parents were overjoyed to learn they’d be getting a grandchild. Both you and Errol decided Eric could learn it on Facebook, like all the other strangers and acquaintances in your lives.

You took maternity leave so that you could pass your gestational time in relative peace. Errol fussed over you, making sure you ate properly and went with you to all your appointments. You made the decision to lay the egg at home instead of the hospital, and Errol’s sister acted as the midwife. It was the toughest work you’d ever done, and Errol was the best cheerleader you could have asked for.

Errol took paternity leave, like you had done, since he couldn’t leave the egg, anyway. He incubated the egg for the rest of the gestation period, curled up around it day and night. Errol’s son, Ewan, was born six months after being conceived, and within another year, you and Errol were married.

You often wondered if things had been different, if you had dated Errol from the beginning instead of Eric, if you’d be as overjoyed as you were at the moment. But then you figured that wondering about what ifs was a waste of time. You had a happy family to look after now, after all, and another clutch on the way. There was no time to worry about the past. The future was right in front of you.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Naga #Cheating #Angst #Hurt/Comfort

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thefirsttree · 3 years

Text

A personal update + my next game

OK, time to do this. I’ve been meaning to do a big DAVID WEHLE™ update for a while now and explain why I haven’t released a new game yet, but you know how life gets in the way. Especially when life is a quarantine hellscape, you have three beautiful, amazing, exhausting kids to raise, a spouse’s job you support, a viral YouTube channel that turns your brain to mush, a thousand emails waiting in your inbox since your game is free on the Epic Games Store (with an impressive number of redemptions too! … meaning lots of emails and customer support issues), etc., etc. What also contributes to my lack of updates is because… I just don’t really like posting online. Fascinating correlation, I know!

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a venting/ranting blog post (well, maybe a bit), because my life is seriously AMAZING and INSANELY BLESSED and LUCKY. I can’t believe how many dreams keep coming true, so much so that I feel I don’t deserve it and I really pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes… but I did want to at least be honest, because I owe that to myself.

Wow, where do I even begin? Well, how about we start with the reason I’m even a full-time indie game dev now: The First Tree. This small hobby project I worked on at night morphed into this gargantuan beast (or fox) that took over my life the past 5 years. Which is great! I’m living the dream! And yet, I really didn’t expect it to do as well as it did. At its core, my game is a slow-paced, sad walking simulator (ahem, I prefer the term “exploration game,” but you know what I mean) that somehow seemed to launch at the right time to the right audience. It resonated deeply with some of you, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I still get emails almost daily how my game changed their lives in some formative way. I’m beyond honored.

However, with that spotlight came criticism and demands from the ever-present, insatiable internet. I would randomly be surfing the gamedev subreddit trying to decompress, and I would see a comment by some rando saying how much I didn’t deserve my success, and how it was all one huge lucky fluke. And I believed them!

And to add to it, some devs considered me an indie marketing “guru”, which I was uncomfortable with. I worked hard to market my game every week, and after my GDC talk, people assumed marketing was my passion; the reason I got up every morning. Just to clarify… NO, I don’t like marketing, and I hate being the center of attention. I don’t like asking people for money and wishlists. But I did what was necessary because I was passionate about telling stories, and I wanted to give my story a fighting chance to be seen on the crowded pages of Steam.

So now, you’re probably wondering “well then David, why did you make fancy YouTube videos showing off your success? Not very modest if you ask me.” This honestly could be a long blog post all on its own, because my experience of putting myself in the spotlight and becoming a “content creator” is… complicated. It was an unusual step for me, especially since I never even showed my face online (as a game developer) until my GDC talk.

First off, I always wanted to teach and start a YouTube channel. I love video editing, especially since I’ve been doing it longer than making games! It’s a huge passion of mine. And teaching people who didn’t know they could make and finish games was a huge motivator (and it’s been so rewarding already). But the second reason is, I was scared. I was self-employed, and I was riding the success of a “huge lucky fluke” that would probably not happen again. I wanted to make sure I could provide for my amazing family, and give them food and health insurance and security in these tumultuous times. I was turning my lifelong passions and hobbies into a business, and it wasn’t as simple of a mental transition as I thought.

So, I went all in on YouTube and the accompanying online course called Game Dev Unlocked. I spent years editing the scripts and videos, and polishing them to a shine. At first, no one watched my videos, no one was buying… and in the blink of an eye, the YouTube algorithm picked up my main autobiographical video (“How Making Indie Games Changed My Life”), and I started getting 5,000 subscribers a day. Right now, I’m at 150,000 subs, which is still hard for me to believe. I always had a dream of earning 100k subs on YouTube, so I was pretty happy with the whole thing. Sales were OK, but mostly people didn’t want to buy the course. Then the emails came in…

Something you should know about me: I am a textbook “people pleaser,” and if someone asks for my help, I take it very seriously. If someone is mad at me, even if I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all I can think about, and it ruins my day. So, taking an onslaught of people begging for help and multiplying that by an impossible amount of people for my brain to truly comprehend thanks to the internet… and let’s just say it wasn’t a healthy mix.

I received thousands of emails from people who were begging me for some kind of reassurance that everything would be OK. That their dreams would come true too. And I wanted to help every single one of them. I went from a nobody working on a game for fun to becoming a spokesperson for the indie game dream. I couldn’t even get a shake from the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru without someone recognizing me and asking for game dev advice. And it didn’t stop there… I would get emails from suicidal kids asking for help, teenagers from Afghanistan asking me to get them out of their country, and on one occasion I received an email from a hopeful game developer in a war-torn country who had just experienced a bomb blowing up their neighboring village. His friends were dead, and he was hoping he could finish a game before he died too, and he needed my help. How do you say no to something like that? Didn’t I owe it to everyone because I was lucky with my hit game and I needed to “pay it forward”? (Something people constantly reminded me of)

And then to top it off, after you’ve given everything you’ve got to other people in need… you get hate mail in your inbox. You spend the whole day serving your children and strangers on the internet, then when the kids are finally asleep, you hit the bed to relax and take a look at your phone to decompress, and you randomly come across an angry gamer in your Twitter mentions telling you your game they got for free sucks, and that you took away a potentially great game from them and that your apology isn’t good enough.

Long story short, I went to a mental therapist for the first time in my life. I was broken trying to care for two toddlers and a new baby in a pandemic (which is very, very hard), taking care of my course students who gave me their hard-earned money and demanded results, and the countless people begging for help on the internet. I was this introverted, internet-lurker trying to take on the weight of the world. I was so tired and hurt that no one cared about me and my needs… only what I could do for them.

Quitting my day job and making this hobby my full-time job has stirred up… mixed emotions. This statement may disturb some of you, but I was definitely 100% happier when I had a full-time job and I was working on my game at night. I missed working with the amazing team at The VOID, working on Star Wars… back when the success of my game was this abstract thing I could only daydream about. Mostly, I was making my game for me with no outside expectations to pay the bills or satisfy the ever-demanding internet, and that brought me a lot of joy.

It’s not all doom and gloom though! I’m actually very happy now and in the best shape I’ve been since the pandemic started. I’ve had to confront my weaknesses and personality quirks, but I’m a better person for it (and I’m sure these issues would’ve come out eventually). I hired an awesome community manager for Game Dev Unlocked who is helping SO MUCH with the emails, I can’t even tell you the mental burden it alleviates. I even leased a co-working office to help separate work from my home, and that’s been a huge help too. I’ve decided to work with my old friends from The VOID on a cool, new VR experience. It will take me away from my projects a bit, but I’m ecstatic to work with a great team again (and not manage anything, whew).

These are all things I would’ve never guessed I needed, because I thought I knew myself pretty well… turns out I didn’t.

The reality is: running a business is HARD. Running it solo is even harder. You have to remember, I was burnt out on The First Tree well into the Steam release in 2017, but I kept working on it for 4 more years due to my fears of failing again and not earning enough money for my family.

So, I was wrestling with the age-old concept of commercialism and art. There was this dichotomy of doing whatever I wanted and being true to my vision (what most people assume the indie dev dream is like), and doing only what customers wanted to buy. This is something that has killed me with YouTube… in one specific instance, I was super excited to make the exact video I wanted to make. I loved every part of its creation, and I thought it had a message that would inspire everyone. I lovingly edited it over several weeks, posted it, and excitedly waited for the stats… and it was by far my worst performing video.

This is not a new problem. Even the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo was a commission forced upon him by the very violent Pope Julius II. My wife and I regularly talk about the fine balance between artistic integrity and commercialism, a problem she is very familiar with as an artist who constantly needs to balance what she wants to make with what the customer wants to hang up in their home.

For The First Tree, I was lucky. It was pretty much what I wanted to make (I had to compromise a lot of things of course), and it turned out millions of people wanted it too. Recently, I thought the safe business decision would be to do it all over again, so I started work on a spiritual successor to The First Tree (an idea that I may revisit one day since I do love the story idea). But that isn’t happening anytime soon. Trust me when I say I am now currently burnt out on animal exploration games.

So that realization left me with a question: what do I do next?

I’ve decided I need to make a game that I want to make, for me. It will be a bit different and I’m almost certain most fans of The First Tree will not love it… but it’s an idea that gets me super excited. It’s an idea that could help me fall in love with game development again.

A few more details: this game will be story-driven, first-person, and will use the Unreal Engine. That means development is gonna be slow going, because I have to learn a whole new tool. The “smart business” decision would be to make something quickly in Unity which I’m already familiar with… but I want to do this for me, and UE5 looks like a lot of fun. I’m also shooting for an early-ish release date so I avoid burn out and I keep the game short: I want to release it in Fall 2022, but knowing game development, it will probably take longer.

With the help of my therapist, I’ve also concluded that I’ve been too accessible on the internet and that my self-worth isn’t determined by the amount of people I try to help online. Of course, I love helping people and seeing them succeed, but I need to step back and focus on my family and myself. I will delete my social media apps on my phone (I will still post big updates occasionally) and stop responding to most emails, tweets, DMs, etc. It’s not that I’m ungrateful… in fact, if I don’t say thank you or at least acknowledge the incredibly nice people who share a sweet message about my game or want to tell me how I inspire them (still hard for me to believe, lol), I feel a ton of guilt… but I need to let that go. Please know I’m extremely grateful to all the fans who follow my work, so even if I don’t thank you directly, I truly mean it: thank you.

I will still post and stream occasionally on YouTube when I want to (and I still do live Q&A’s for my GDU students). The online course sales will help support my family as I work on a potentially risky game idea (and my new job will help alleviate the risk too). I’m gonna try one more marketing experiment and sell a mini-course soon (and add an Unreal section), and after that I’m done working on it. A gigantic thank you to the people who bought my course and are part of the amazing community, it has helped me and my family tremendously, and it’s inspiring seeing the games you make!

I’m a bit worried about the whole thing since this new game idea could flop, which could definitely affect my family. But a sappy, high-school yearbook quote is coming to mind… I think it applies here: “A ship in harbor is safe—but that is not what ships are built for.”

Thanks for reading,

David

#gamedev #indie games #the first tree

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strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

Text

Mating Season- Hawks x Fem! Reader 18+

A/n: thank you to the beautiful and talented @titanialev once again for feeding me ideas check out her art for this piece here

Warnings: Sex, biting

Word count: 2.5k

This day seemed to have dragged on forever. Work couldn’t be over soon enough. How much fun could you have working at a civilian bank. Nothing of note happened here, all you did was count money and do paperwork all day. The few times you got to text your boyfriend he didn’t respond, but that was probably because he was out patrolling, or doing something for the Commission. He was one lucky bastard.

After a few more hours of torturously boring paperwork you sluggishly waved goodbye to your coworkers and walked out of work. You check your phone one last time before walking home. You smiled as you saw the text you received from your boyfriend. Nothing in the world made you more excited.

The parking lot of your work was always empty, but today it seemed even emptier. Those who couldn’t wait to get home left quickly. Not that you could blame them.There was only one place you wanted to be anyway. “Well isn’t there a sight for sore eyes?” You heard a male voice say to you. You huffed at the attention. Any man who used a cheesy pick up line deserved to be punched. You really just wanted to punch that smug voice in the throat. You groaned internally, rolled your eyes and looked toward the voice.

“Look, here asshole!” You started saying but when your eyes fell on the most handsome man you ever laid eyes on. His golden eyes pierced your soul. All the anger you felt melted looking at him. How could it not when you’re looking at your boyfriend.

“I was going to punch you, you know.” You told him. As you looked at him, you saw him leaning against his car hood casually. Wearing his black leather jacket, blue jeans, and sunglasses he looked like a model.

“Yeah, I know. I had to come see my dove.” He told you as he walked over to you.

“This is most certainly a surprise, you never pick me up on Fridays, you’re usually out patrolling until late.” You said surprised as you two embraced. The warmth of his body made you shiver, even though the evening was warm for the season.

“There are few things in life that I like, you are probably my most favorite.” He muttered into your lips as he pressed his lips into yours. Those soft lips the way they seemed to mold with yours so perfectly. He loved making you flustered in public, and especially in front of your co-workers. You broke the kiss, and your face warmed.

“Keigo, please stop, you’re flustering me.” You whined. He laughed at your remark.

“I like you flustered. If everything goes, right you’ll be more than flustered by the end of the night.” He whispered against your ear. You felt the hair on your neck stand at his comment. He took your hand and walked to the passenger side of the car. You slid into the seat, and buckled yourself in. Keigo slid in the driver’s seat and turned the radio on. You normally wouldn’t think twice, since you both listened to the radio, but you heard Keigo belt out in a terribly strangled voice:

“This is the part when I say I don’t wanna, I’m stronger than I’ve been before. This is the part when I break free cause I can’t resist it no more.” You stared at your boyfriend like he grew two heads. The fact that he was singing wasn’t what made you want to laugh, it was when he started dancing in the seat. When he stopped the car at a red light, and turned up the music, you weren’t even sure if he was actually you boyfriend.

The driver in the next car over just looked at him and started laughing. You were a bit embarrassed but when you realized that he was having fun, who were you to stop him? When he had continued singing, and this time surprisingly well, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was definitely in a good mood, but something seemed a bit off, and you couldn’t explain it. You thought no more of it, as Keigo turned into the parking garage that was attached to your building.

“Here, I thought we were going to take me to dinner.” You mused aloud and gave him a sweet smile.

“My little bird, I’ve decided that I’d make dinner for you tonight.” He gave you his smug smile that make you melt.

“Oh, I didn’t know you could actually cook, Kei. We’ve been together for a while and you’ve cooked only breakfast for me.” You teased him. He visibly tensed up at your comment.

“Oh, no I am sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it.” You tried to calm him down.

“It’s fine, let’s just go inside.” He told you before he got out of the car to open your door. You walked toward the penthouse you shared while Keigo followed behind you. You both stayed silent while making your way.

After unlocking the door, you sighed heavily. You made him upset, and you knew it. It was best to leave it alone for now. Keigo walked in behind you and wrapped you in his wings and placed a kiss on the nape of your neck, causing shivers to run down your body.

“Dove, you go take a bath and relax. I’ll make us some dinner.” He reassured you. You did as he suggested. The warmth of the bath made your muscles relax and you felt your eyes getting heavy. You heard a soft knock at the door just before you fell asleep.

“Hey, dinner is almost ready, but please don’t rush on my account.” Keigo told you and he left the door slightly ajar. You decided that instead of sleeping you should wash your body quickly and join him for dinner.

After stepping out from the bathroom in your bedroom, you heard the sizzling of meat, smelled garlic, and onions. Your mouth started watering and your stomach rumbled. You were hungry. You went to your top drawer where you kept your panties, and found a handwritten note, from Keigo. It was written in his undeniable scrawl, ‘Go look in the closet’. You debated on it for a moment, you really didn’t want to wear anything but pajamas, but also, Keigo didn’t go out of his way for no reason.

When entering the walk in closet you found a garment bag hanging in the front of your side of the closet. You unzippered the bag, and found yourself staring at the most gorgeous, black silk halter dress. You’d been eyeing this one for a while now, and when you did go buy it, it was sold out. You decided that you could spend your money on something you needed instead of something you wanted. It wasn’t meant to be for you. Here it was, hanging right in front of your eyes. You quickly changed into it, foregoing any underwear, and went to do your hair and makeup quickly.

After ten more minutes, you were assaulted with whatever food was currently cooking. You saw Keigo swaying to the music he put on, his wings slowly rising and falling with the beat. This time, it wasn’t Ariana Grande, but watching him move was mesmerizing. You noticed the whole dining area was covered with candlelight. The curves and flicker of the flames drew shadows on the wall. The sizzling had died down, and plates were placed on the table.

“Kei, this is so beautiful. What on earth is all this about?” You asked, eyeing the beautiful bouquet on the table. He turned to see you, and gave you the biggest smile.

“Can I not do something for the woman, I love?” He asked as he pulled you into a slow dance. You notice he had changed out of his jeans and tee shirt into a button down shirt and dress pants. Your heart fluttered at his words. Of course, you loved him, and he loved you. You two spent your days off entangled in one another, but this was a different side of Keigo, you’d never seen before.

After the slow dance was over, Keigo brought you to the table to eat your food, where he was a gentleman, by pulling out your chair and pushing it for you. You smiled at him. His eyes glanced over your body, the lust very evident.

“You look so beautiful, my dove. You truly are a vision.” He spoke as he kissed your hand.

“Thank you, but where did you find this dress? It’s been sold out as long as we’ve been dating. It wasn’t necessary to buy it.” You told him with excitement.

“The thing is, I am a hero. Even in civilian form, everyone knows who I am. You know I am willing to pay for the things you want. People are willing to do things when a hero asks.” He waved his words away.

“Well, thank you, but it wasn’t necessary. This dinner looks amazing and smells just as good.” You replied. He gave you a knowing smile.

The conversation throughout dinner was light. The two of you discussed the other heros and his agency. You discussed how boring work was, and how nothing ever happened, but you knew the reason nothing happened was because the Heroes did their patrolling properly.

Keigo took the dishes and cleared them from the table and brought out a small four layered chocolate cake topped with strawberries and whipped cream.

“Did you make this yourself too?” You questioned him. “It looks like something from that little bakery I like not too far from the bank.”

“I admit. I didn’t think about dessert until right before I picked you up from work. So it is from the bakery, yes.” He admitted to you as he sat down in his chair. You didn’t wait, you took your fork and shoved it right into the cake. Not waiting for Keigo at all. You hummed happily and smiled at your boyfriend. You took your finger and swiped a bit of whipped cream from the top of the cake. Pointing the finger at Keigo’s face, he debated for a moment leaned forward and bit your finger.

“Ow! What the hell?” You jerked your hand back. “That really hurt. Why would you ever bite me?” You questioned him, giving him a bit of side eye.

“Sorry, I guess. I am feeling a little off tonight.” He told you slumping his shoulders. He took the rest of the cake, wrapped it back up in it’s packaging and placed it in the refrigerator to keep cool.

You genuinely felt bad for him. He looked so down, when not even moments ago his spirit was so high.

“I guess, I will just call it a night. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just being playful.” He told you as he walked into the bedroom. You couldn’t be mad at him. The man you loved more than anything, had danced with you, had made you the most delicious dinner, he sang to you, he bought you the dress you wanted since before you two were dating. What more could a girl possibly want?

“Keigo, look. I-” You started saying as you walked into the bedroom. When you entered you saw Keigo wearing nothing but a bow. He looked up at you sheepishly.

“What-” The next thing you knew his mouth was on yours as he kissed you deeply. His hands running over your curves, feeling nothing but your dress beneath his hands. You snaked one arm around him and pulled him close.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today Keigo, but you’re acting strange.” He grabbed your hips and pressed you against the wall.

“I can only think about one thing… being inside of you.” His voice was dark with lust. He pressed his bulge against you, while undoing the ties of your dress. He didn’t care about anything other than unloading himself into you.

“My dress!” You cried as he tore it off.

“I will buy you 100 more, I just need you right now.” His warm breath on your neck. Without a care, he thrusted himself deep inside you. He moaned in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He thrusted into you again as he hardened even more. “Dove, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’ve been on edge all day.”

While you normally didnt mind the sex, there was an edge of anger and desperation to it today. Thinking back on it, you two had been together for a little less than a year. It was Rumi who had told you on a drunken girls night out that once a year, when it was rutting or mating season, she’d act more aggressive than normal. She told you that normally she’d find whatever poor soul she could to take care of it. When you had asked her if Keigo went through the same things, she told you probably, but wasn’t sure how he went about it. It was after that night you’d done some research on the subject.

“God, you look so beautiful, my little bird.” His gold eyes bore into your soft (eye color) ones. His thrusting sped up faster. He nipped at the tender spots of your neck, groaning into you.

“Keigo.” His lips crashed onto yours again, tangling his tongue with yours. He was too far gone in his haze to respond to you. He spread his wings behind him as wide as he could, you remembered seeing this once before when studying biology. Keigo didn’t seem to have noticed that he was showing off his feathers.

Suddenly, he picked you up and threw you onto the bed. His wings at thier full span.

“I am going to fuck you straight through this bed.” He hissed in your ear and he closed the gap between the two of you. He thrusted himself in you again with more force than before. Harder and faster he crashed into you again and again. His wings opening and closing with his pace. You felt him as he came closer to his limit. His breathing severely labored. His mind no longer concerned with his normal traditions with you. Mating was the only thing on his mind. Releasing this angry beast that overtook him. A final few thrusts, and he released every drop of his seed into you.

You felt his racing heart slow a bit, and he got his breathing back to normal. You laid underneath him as he had wrapped his wings around you, as he normally did after love making. The haze of lust that filled his eyes was gone. His golden eyes looked at you with love again. He peppered your face with kisses, as you stroked his wings. As he laid his head on your chest for a brief moment, you heard the faintest whisper from him.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Be mine forever. Marry me.” Those were the last words you heard before you both fell asleep.

#mha keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha smut #bnha hawks

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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years

Text

Part 1 Here!

Commission Info for letters from your favorite comfort character here!

A/N: If you want to be added to the tag list for this, The draco muggle series, or the Fred and George Weasley best friends Series let me know!

- “What’s the hurry boss? Where are you heading off to?” One of your co -workers asks as you rush around the store double checking all the locks on the entrances and giving your plants one final spritz

- “Hot date?” The other asks with a suggestive raised eyebrow

- “Yes.” You say simply,

- They both sputter at that

- “What? Seriously?!”

- “With who??” The other shrieks

- And right on cue there’s a light tap on the door

- Cue your employees squealing again

- “Him?!?”

- “The hottie with a dye job?”

- George offers you a smile and a wave and you smile back

- “Ainsley I trust you can lock up?” You ask, pushing the key into their hand

- They only nod

- Henry’s looking at you with his his mouth open as he watches you leave, George and you smiling at each other like a couple of lovestruck fools

- “I told you he had a crush on them” Ainsley says with a grin and Henry has a blush blooming on his cheeks as he pulls a five pound note from his wallet

- “I mean I did too- I just didn’t think he would work up the nerve to actually ask them out.”

- A moment of silence fills the air

- “I bet Ten pounds they find out if that’s their natural hair color tonight” Ainsley says with a grin, and Henry looks at her with a slightly mortified expression

- I mean, the implication of how you would find that out is just-

- “Yeah alright, our boss is a prude there’s no way” he says shaking Ainsley’s hand.

- So when George meant dinner- he meant dinner

- You’re at the tower restaurant in downtown London

- It’s on the fiftieth floor at a skyscraper at the heart of London.

- He reserved a table specifically next to a window with a view of the canal and the London eye

- It’s quite spectacular

- “Have you been here before?” He asks

- You’re glad you dressed a little nicer than you were originally thinking

- “A few times, once for a birthday and once-“

- You’re interrupted by your server bringing a bottle of champagne

- George gets a puzzled expression, he hasn’t even ordered yet

- “Compliments of the Owner, we’re still grateful you were able to fulfill that order last minute when our other florist backed out.”

- “Not a problem Charles, it was my pleasure”

- When he’s gone George flashes you a smile

- “I feel like everyone knows you” he says, lifting up a champagne flute as you toast.

- “That was just one person” you say with a smile and a giggle

- “You should have been at the store last week, my brother wouldn’t shut up about you” he says with a grin

- “Who’s your brother?”

- George describes Ron, but it doesn’t spark anything in you until he mentions the red hair

- “Oh yes, Ronnie! He comes by every month to get flowers for his girlfriend, I didn’t know he was your brother”

- What a small world

- You should have seen the similarity from the start, the hair was a dead give away really

- How come no one else at the shop had noticed either?

- “Well one of them” George shrugs

- “How many brothers do you have”

- George grins

- “That’s enough for a volleyball team!”

- “We have a sister too, the running joke is our parents wanted a girl, just one”

- By the time the appetizers are being brought out George has got the family picture from when they visited Bill in Egypt out (charmed so it doesn’t move of course)

- “You have a twin?”

- You know the second you’ve asked it that you said something wrong

- It’s not that George looks upset, or that his expression has darkened-

- He just looks so sad

- The kind of sadness that’s as deep as the Mariana Trench, hidden behind a kind smile and the gentle warmth of longing

- “I did have a twin-“ George knew this would come up sooner or later, he just didn’t want to ruin the nice mood you had going so soon

- “He passed away a few years ago”

- George is waiting for the look-

- The wide eyes, and the slight pout. That overly sympathetic look he’s gotten so often, it’s only natural. It happens to everyone, he won’t hold it against you.

- And it forms on your face a little, because you can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone like that. But the next thing that comes out of your mouth is original

- “What was he like?”

- “What?” George is taken aback, he was expecting words of condolence, as is typical for this situation

- “You told me all about Bill, and Charlie, and Percy, and Ron, and Ginny-“

- Now he’s surprised that you’ve remembered all of his siblings names, and correctly at that

- “Now tell me about your twin”

- Your eyes are twinkling when they look to him. All of London stretches out behind you, like something from a painting. Your face is illuminated by the small candle in the middle of your table.

- It feels like something out of a movie, and George is afraid he might cry from the sheer beauty of it

- He never thought he would feel this way again

- “His name was Fred, and he was my best friend”

- He’s talked about Fred before, to his family, to his therapist and old classmates

- But he’s never had an experience quite like this

- “Umbridge? Oh she was the worst, like the bitter old nun who slaps your wrists with a ruler”

- Only worse

- “Anyway Fred and I- we planned this entire thing when we decided to leave school-“

- He tells you about the fireworks in the main hall of their boarding school, and the way they raced through the door and never came back

- “I think I would have liked Fred” you say, a warm look in your eyes

- He would have liked you too, George wants to say

- But that’s a little forward for the first date, he feels like he’s already unloaded enough with his broken family and their loss

- Lucky for him, dessert has just arrived

- “Compliments of the owner, we hope to see you both here again” Charles tells you, setting down two impressive plates of Tiramisu

- “Why do I get the feeling that whatever you did was more than just a last minute order fulfillment?”

- You shrug

- “Well after the whole thing- they started contracting me to do their regular day to day flowers” you shrug, it’s not that big of a deal, fancy places like this use a few different vendors, they probably have a different one for each day

- Which is for the best since your shop can only handle a few days at most.

- It’s not that you can’t produce enough flowers or anything, it’s just you wouldn’t be able to give Ainsley and Henry the leisurely work hours you do now, not while maintaining quality for your existing customers

- And that’s a big no for you

- “I take it business was always this good?”

- With how successful you seem, he honestly can’t imagine you struggling

- You scoff

- “It was tough at first, when I was by myself.” You still remember your family telling you that it wasn’t to late to declare bankruptcy and get a real job. “Things got better when Ainsley showed up- holidays are still tough though.”

- “Ron’s told me all about the hour long line at Valentine’s Day” George says with a grin and you bury your face in your hands with a muffled groan

- “Oh it’s going to be terrible this year.” Valentine’s Day is still a few months away, but you can already feel the dread

- “We started doing appointments only last year- because the amount of people that just show up and ransack the place is just-“

- “Oh I know,” George says. “My store doesn’t even sell anything all that romantic, but the amount of people who show up last minute to buy anything- one time a bloke even bought the decorations I had up.”

- “Have you noticed-“ you voice lowers as you lean forward. “That’s it’s never people looking for things for their significant other, it’s always-“

- “For the mistresses?”

- You nod enthusiastically

- “I thought maybe it was just my store-“ George leans forward as well now, talking very quickly

- “No the same person who ordered flowers two months in advance for their husband, will spend thirty minutes begging for me to put a bouquet together for their special friend”

- George leans back and shakes his head

- “It’s crazy isn’t it? How many people cheat?”

- You sigh, leaning back into your chair shrugging

- “It’s not our place to judge.”

- Especially not when the person in question is shoving fifty quid in your face for a god d*mn cactus and a card

- George knows that, and he knows there have been times that the only reason he was able to keep his shop afloat after Fred left is because of Valentine’s Day

- But still- cheating just irks him

- It’s the most unforgivable thing a person can do, to betray the person they love the most like that

- George knows every relationship is different- and that things aren’t clear cut-

- But he can’t ever imagine doing that to someone

- “I don’t get it though, I can’t even get one lover, let alone two or more” you laugh, and George swears it looks like you’re glowing

- He feels a smile twitch at the corner of his lips, the mischievous streak in him rolling awake after what feels like years of slumber

- “What if I told you I was trying to change that?”

- His arm is on the table, the tips of his fingers brushing against yours slightly

- You feel your face grow hot as his words sink in one by one

- A smile spreading across you face

- “I would say, I’m looking forward to it.”

BONUS:

- “So did you find out if Hottie’s color is natural?” Ainsley asks, a mischievous smile curled onto their lips.

- “Ainsley, his name is George, he owns a hobby store a few lanes over.” You say as you finish tying the bow on an arrangement.

- There’s a second of silence in which Henry and Ainsley exchange a look. Henry’s feeling pretty confident right now, Ainsley might have worked here longer than him, but he feels like he knows you pretty well, and he-

- “And yes it is, so you should both stop calling him Dye Job.” You say with a smile twitching on your lips.

- Henry.exe is broken.

- Ainsley has to hide their joy, internally cheering and wondering how to spend the money.

- “H-how do you know that?” Henry asks, maybe you’re just saying it so he and Ainsley will stop teasing your new love interest.

- You stop, looking up from your arrangement in slight wonder.

- Ah, he was right! It looks like you’re trying to come up with an excuse.

- “Well his brothers all seem to have that hair color, I think they get it from their Dad.”

- Ainsley and Henry.exe have stopped working.

- “YoU mEt HiS fAmIlY??” Ainsley shrieks.

#harry potter imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley headcanon #george weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #goerge adn fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley headcanon #harry potter headcanon #harry potter reader insert #harry potter preferences #harry potter imagine #harry potter

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

Text

hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff!

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor.

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry, baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama.

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.”

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang.

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration.

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine.

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him.

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-”

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly.

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away.

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you.

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

#park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #bts imagine #pjm x reader #bangtanheadquarters #btscreatorsclub #noonasinnetwork #bts commissions

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fruitymimi · 4 years

Text

Free Bird - Keigo Takami x Reader

free bird master list

the hero commission ruined him, leaving him unable to feel anything. that is until he meets them.

warning: yandere themes, emotional trauma/abuse, obsessive hawks

pairing: keigo takami x gender neutral reader

a/n: this fic will get darker as i go, this is only the first chapter (; this is all fiction, if it isnt your thing please scroll x. THIS IS ALSO SLOW BURN! hopefully i’ll have an update out tmr <3

word count: 2727

Keigo Takami was the last man you’d call mentally stable.

Keigo has always felt like he didn’t have a valid place on this earth. He’s always felt like he was alone, nobody understood the way he thought. Since he was a child, he hated the idea of becoming a hero. He wanted to live in peace, he wanted to feel like a free bird. He couldn’t remember much about his childhood, almost like he’d built a mental wall between his past and whatever he had left that he called a future.

His parents always asked him if he wanted to be “Just like Endeavor!” and whenever he’d tell them that he wanted to be his own person, they would shut him down by saying he just didn’t realize it yet, but he was “bound” to be the #1 hero. Instead of a childhood, Keigo was forced to train with people who were physically and mentally stronger than him, people who made his quirk seem as though it was just lightwork that anyone could do.

Putting a child with people who would make him feel inferior was one thing, but doing it on purpose to try and make your child stronger was just abusive. That’s all his parents wanted. They wanted him to be the strongest hero in the world. They would do anything to get their hands on a child with a hero salary.

“You’ll be just like your idol!”

As soon as Hawks turned 18, he’d lost his freedom to speak for himself, he’d lost his free will. He was no longer a free bird. He was manipulated and forced into the position he was in now. They promised he’d be the perfect hero, they promised he would have the top hero position.

Keigo was so desperate for an escape that he believed his “idol” would be his savior, poor thing knew that was near impossible, though. His parents basically sold their soul to Endeavor, after exchanging a few words & their child with Endeavor, his future was written for him.

Endeavor wasn’t at all innocent. Keigo was his fifth chance at the perfect child in his eyes. The only thing that separated the man from Keigo’s parents was the fact that Enji was not motivated by money. Endeavor wanted nothing more than a perfect name. He wanted his name to have an impact far after his death, and he wasn’t sure how far he’d get with Shoto.

By having Keigo, Endeavor could let people know that he trained, motivated, and pushed Keigo to be the amazing hero he was. Nobody would find out about Keigo’s past, no one needed to know. Endeavor would be a legend, Keigo’s parents would be rich beyond belief, and Keigo would be a hero, who wouldn’t want to work for a corrupt system that enslaves or brainwashes its people?

The hero commission didn’t want Keigo. They wanted a hero they could control.

“His quirk is perfect. He has the ability to fly, he can use his feathers in combat, he’s the perfect tool.”

From a young age, Keigo was forced to realize how terrible the hero commission was. Praised or villanized for a quirk you couldn’t control, and if you didn’t have a quirk, you were pretty much useless.

The only people who understood this concept was of course those who were affected by it. The ones who were published all over the news for being a villain, a threat, just because the hero commission saw their quirk as dangerous. They’d be locked behind bars for wanting to stop the injustices & prejudice against them, they’d rot in a cell, blaming themselves for something they couldn’t control. All while heroes were praised for doing the bare minimum, living in 3 story homes, eating off of silver spoons.

Knowing this at a young age was a lot for Keigo. All he wanted was to be a free bird, but… that wasn’t possible anymore. He felt empty. He felt like his life didn’t have a purpose, he was just a puppet for Endeavor, a bank for his parents.

He’d spend hours training with Endeavor, even if he complained that he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t feel like he could continue, Endeavor would make him continue training until he couldn’t fly straight. They event went so far as to putting Keigo in a dorm room inside of Endeavor’s building so they could have longer and “more effective” training. Keigo knew he wouldn’t get out of being a hero, and he was slowly accepting the fact that his right to autonomy was gone.

He couldn’t even escape from the dorms. Even though Endeavor left every night to go to his own home, the building was heavily guarded and Keigo would be a fool to try and run away.

And that’s how he carried himself until he was nineteen. No, he didn’t finally break Endeavor with his sob stories. No, he didn’t knock any sense into his parents to have them pull him out of hero work. He… met someone?

“This is Keigo. He’s… he’s interning with me. He’s been shadowing me since he was a young, aspiring hero.” Enji explained to the person who was following close behind him. They had bright eyes, they looked like they were excited and content with being a hero.

Keigo couldn’t help but stare at them… someone was walking with Endeavor and they were happy. That’s not something you even see from his own wife. It didn’t take long for Keigo to notice how gorgeous they were. The prettiest skin, their features were soft & made their face look absolutely stunning.

“Keigo. Don’t you have something to say to them?” Endeavor was staring daggers into Keigo’s face.

Keigo’s eyes were blown wide as he snapped back into reality. “My name is Keigo Takami. It’s really nice to meet you.” He said to them, reaching his hand out for them to shake.

They grinned, taking his hand into theirs. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Y/N! I’m interning with All Might, he’s just gonna be busy for a few weeks in another country… So, he trusted Endeavor to train me until he’s back.” Immediately, they cursed themselves for saying something that Keigo probably had no interest in, something he didn’t ask about.

But that’s where they were wrong. Keigo wanted nothing more but to hear them speak. He was pretty sure that the only real interaction he’d gotten in the past month was with Endeavor, it felt amazing to finally be talking with someone else.

Keigo felt like he was floating as he stared at their smile. He wanted to listen to them speak all day, he didn’t care if what they said had no meaning.

“I trust you to teach her warm-ups while I’m in the next room getting a few things for the training,” Endeavor looked at Keigo, raising a row, “behave yourself.” He mumbled, leaving the two in the room by themselves.

Keigo couldn’t help but watch what they were doing. They seemed so bubbly and excited to be in the position they were in.

“So..” They finally broke the awkward silence, folding their hands in front of them, “He seems like he’s a hardass, isn’t he?” They laughed.

Keigo furrowed his brows, scratching the back of his neck. “Hm- What?” He stuttered out. Of course he was getting distracted by their smile again. The way their hands looked so soft and the way their eyes shined whenever they would look at Keigo.

“Endeavor, birdbrain. He’s a hardass? I can tell.” They teased, slowly walking to a chair that was in the room. “He seems like he’s really strict, almost like he’s annoying.”

For some reason, Keigo’s face felt all hot. It felt like it was burning hot in the room all of a sudden. He didn’t feel right. He felt like he wasn’t in the right dimension. He wasn’t himself. “Yeah… That’s Endeavor… He’s always like that, always has been since I can remember.”

“Why’d you pick him for your internship? There are so many cool heroes… Endeavor seems…” Their words trailed off as they looked down at Keigo’s wings, smiling when he saw them flutter. Of course the stupid things fluttered at the sound of their voice.

Keigo opened his mouth to speak, searching for the words-- a lie to tell them. “Well… I’ve always looked up to him. He keeps me in check and is putting me on the correct path to becoming a hero.” The simple, stupid lie felt like acid on his tongue. He couldn’t even stand pretending to praise the man. “What about you? Why All Might?”

They shrugged. “I dunno… I want to be like him someday… But… I want to be better. I don’t want people to feel like they’re villains just because they don’t have the ideal quirk. I want them to also know that they can make a difference in this world just like a hero can. And I want people without quirks to know that too,” They said, getting that same bright look in their face they had when they first walked in, “I’ve always thought the hero commission was fucked, but maybe if a few good heroes step in, it’ll better…?”

Keigo hummed, nodding his head. “I’ve always thought the same thing. The hero commission is so damaged.” Keigo agreed. He could listen to them speak for hours. He was in absolute awe from the way they made him feel.

After that day, Keigo drug himself to his bedroom in his dorm.. His body didn’t feel like it was his anymore. He had never felt this way and it was honestly overwhelming. He didn’t have anyone to speak to about it, so these feelings bottled up in his soul. He kept closing his eyes to go to sleep, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. Their smile, how excited they were to do hero work. His head felt all cloudy, his heart felt like it was heavy. Finally he could feel something, he hated it.

It felt like his head was pounding. Keigo coldn’t get them off his mind. They’d only met and spoken to each other once, why was he feeling like this? This wasn’t him falling in love, right?

“That’s childish… It can’t be..” he mumbled to himself, laying down flat against his pillow. He could hear faint footsteps but he’d just assumed it was Endeavor walking around the hallways to make sure he was sleeping before he left for his own home.

“Hey..” Y/N knocked on his cracked door, biting down on their bottom lip, “Birdbrain… You awake?” They whisper-yelled, peeking into his room.

Keigo squinted at the door, sitting up in his bed. “Why’re you awake? Endeavor’s gonna be upset..” he told them, pushing the blankets off of his legs to walk over to them.

They shrugged, opening the door a bit wider. “It’s fine. I wanted to show you something… it might be something you already know about, but I thought it would make you kinda happy.” They reached for his wrist, tugging it towards their dorm room.

They smiled, rushing him over to the window. “I noticed if you can fit through the window, you could sit on the roof… I thought it would be kinda cool for us to look at the stars or something and talk. Since I’m gonna be here for awhile, we might as well become friends, right?”

That stupid fucking smile.

Keigo nodded slowly, looking outside. “There are guards down there… what if they see us?” Keigo bit down on his lip. To Keigo, it wasn’t a matter of ‘what if they see us?’, it was a matter of ‘what if they see me?’. They wouldn’t get in trouble, but Keigo would be punished if they thought he was sneaking out.

“If we get in trouble, I’ll take the blame. Just do this with me, please?” They asked, unlocking the window. They slid it open, crawling out of the window. They turned to face Keigo, offering a hand to help him out.

Keigo stared at their hand for a minute. He was getting that dumb feeling again. His hands felt shaky, his cheeks felt like they were burning hot, his heart was pounding like it was doing flips in his chest. He took their hand, using it to get onto the rooftop.

“You’re so shaky… Have you never done anything risky like this?” They giggled, turning to look at all of the stars. “It’s really beautiful up here.” They mumbled.

Keigo looked at them, then to their glossy eyes. He swallowed, nodding his head. “Yeah, it’s really pretty…” he muttered, his eyes darting down to his lap. Was this love? He hasn’t felt that since he was a child, how could he have fallen for some trainee?

“So, Keigo. What is your quirk exactly? Can you only fly?” They asked him, turning to look at the man beside them.

Keigo shook his head. “No! I mean.. No, my quirk gives me fierce wings. My feathers act as if they’re alive and move at my command. They’re good for saving people. And I can use some of them like a sword, some of them are extremely sharp.” Keigo explained to them, watching them look at his hawks in amazement. “What’s your quirk..?”

They hummed. “That’s really cool! You should take me on a flight one day,” they grinned, “and… It’s kind of lame compared to yours. I can create a sandstorm on command, small, large, whatever.” They told him.

Keigo nodded. “That’s not lame. That sounds really interesting, actually.” Keigo felt his wings twitch. They were making him feel some type of way again.

Keigo got lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t even notice them leaning their head against him until he heard their soft snores. Keigo turned his head, something red catching his eye. He darted his eyes over to the window, peering out. He could see Endeavor standing at the door way with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

Keigo bit his lip, turning back to the stars. He looked down at them. He couldn’t help but notice their features all over again. They were absolutely breath-taking. And they smelled fresh and sweet, he felt like he could get high off of their rich scent. Their skin looked soft to the touch, it made him want to reach out and lay his hand on their cheek, and just stare into their eyes.

Keigo’s wings fluttered again at the sight. He bit down on his lip, letting out a deep breath. Keigo was basically at a war with himself in his head. Was it okay for him to develop a crush on someone this fast? Keigo didn’t remember what it was like to be in love, he’d lost that feeling towards his parents long ago. But looking down at them made him feel safe. As long as he was out here with them, nothing could hurt him anymore.

He could forget about everything that was hurting him. He could forget about what was trapping him inside this awful building when he was with them.

His parents couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Endeavor couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Keigo could feel tears brimming at his eyes, his bottom lip quivering. Only they could make him feel this way. No one else gave him this sense of… sense of euphoria and happiness. And the way they were speaking with him, they felt it too, right? They were in love too, right? Keigo wasn’t crazy. Keigo knew what this meant.

This meant they were in love too.

He just knew that he couldn’t let them go. He couldn’t let someone take them from him. He needed them. He wanted to have this feeling forever. He needed to feel wanted forever. He wasn’t interpreting this wrong, this was love. This is what true love was suposed to feel like. He wrapped his wing around them, using his feathers as if they were a blanket to keep them warm.

He looked down at his shaky hands, pressing one against his pounding chest. This was all because of them. This was meant to happen… this is fate. His mind was blank. The only thing he could only think one thing,

Mine.

They will be mine.

#bnha #hawks x reader #gender neutral imagine #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #yagami yato #x reader #yandere #yandere hawks #yandere keigo #yandere keigo x reader #slow burn #yandere hawks x reader

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superhero--imagines · 3 years

Text

Part 1 Here! / Part 3 Here!/ Playlist Here!

A/N: Maybe one last part after this?

Ko-Fi l Etsy l Commission Info Here

* You’re sitting on a bench outside, listening to Shoko and Nanami talk about something

* The breeze caresses your face

* It’s so quiet

* You haven’t experienced silence like this in years

* And there’s only one reason why you’re suddenly experiencing it now

* Your eyes stray from the dancing branches that hover above you to the dancing white-haired boy across the courtyard

* He’s talking to Geto about something, laughing as he does

* His sky blue eyes meet yours for a second, before abruptly looking away

* Not the usual flirtatious wink and wave he would normally give you

* You don’t know why, but it’s like Gojo’s lost every ounce of interest he had in you

* It looks like that prank you pulled on him is what did it-

* Apparently Geto had to help get the glass down

* He hasn’t tried speaking to you once since then, and every time your eyes meet he looks away just like he did a second ago

* What a baby, so he can dish it out but he can’t take it when someone uses his own tactics against him huh?

* It’s for the best really, you don’t want anything to do with him

* Besides if that moron just wanted someone who wasn’t going to react or get mad, then he should just date a sex doll

* It’s for the best, really

* So why are you so upset right now

* The prickle of irritation burns in your chest even when you turn away from the two boys, joining in on Shoko and Nanami’s conversation

* On the other side, Geto lets out a low whistle

* “Never thought I would see the day a lady killer like you would get embarrassed because you made eye contact with your crush” Geto grins when Gojo flushes a light pink.

* Geto almost wants to laugh, what happened to the womanizing-god-complex freak who was here just a second ago?

* “Don’t say lady-killer, you know I like men too, I’m an equal opportunity lover” Gojo gloats while running his fingers through his hair

* Ah, it looks like he’s on his bullshit again

* “You better watch out Geto, if you’re too much of tsundere I might fall for you next” the words are emphasized with a wink, and Geto can’t help but laugh

* “Whatever dude, don’t come crying to me when they start to hate you because you’re being flakey”

* Gojo laughs it off

* But late that night, while he’s lying in bed watching the shadows flicker on his ceiling he can’t help but wonder-

* What if you really do end up hating him?

* It’s not that he doesn’t want to be around you anymore or anything-

* He just doesn’t know how to approach you anymore now that he knows he’s in love with you

* “I’ve probably been in love for a while” he mumbles

* He’s not really sure when it started.

* At first it was just for shits and giggles

* Something to keep him entertained, and you just happened to be the most entertaining thing around

* So when did it stop being ‘anyone’s fine’ and start being ‘it’s only fine if it’s you’?

* He sighs turning to face the wall, he doesn’t understand his own feelings

* Yeah he’s got all this money and power and influence-

* But right now he’s just a boy in love for the first time

* And he doesn’t know how to handle that

* “I just don’t want them to hate me” he mumbles, feeling his eyes close shut

* He’ll try to talk to you tomorrow

* Even if it’s just a simple ‘good morning’

* At least it’ll be something

* But to his annoyance, he’s told he has to go save his classmates from a curse

* And then everything with the star vessel happens

* And he doesn’t see you for a while and he thinks-

* “Well maybe this is fine, maybe it’s better this way. They’re probably happy now that I’m not around always annoying them”

* And just as he’s thinking maybe this is for the best, that if someone leaves your life it probably means they weren’t supposed to be apart of it anyway -

* When you come barreling into his life again

* “Oi, Baka prince, where did sensei say this kid's house was again?” You ask, eyebrows threading together as you fidget with your phone

* Yaga-sensei sent you to accompany Gojo on his ‘mission’ to retrieve Megumi Fushiguro

* It looks like the only people who can reign Gojo in are you and Geto

* Not that you mind the impromptu mission, and besides- you don’t think Gojo is someone who should be alone around kids

* Gojo actually flinches when you speak to him, you’d traveled in silence so far, standing side by side without exchanging a word on the train.

* You sigh, you know he isn’t interested in you but the least he can do is be somewhat pleasant

* Even that usual annoying demeanor of his would be fine

* You’re not sure why but that prickle of irritation burns in you again, seeping through in the nickname you gave him

* Gojo doesn’t meet your eyes, those clear blue pupils are averted slightly as a pink blush singes his face

* “I’m not sure, I’ve just been following the cursed energy” he admits with an uncharacteristically shy gaze

* Okay WTF

* Gojo would never let the opportunity to tell you how weak you are for being unable to “even feel this amount of cursed energy”

* Who is this freak and what has he done to the real Gojo Satoru

* “Are you sick or something?” You ask

* Your hand’s already moving to cover his forehead, and you feel like somethings off

* Your eyebrows thread together as your peer closer, noticing a small gap where your hand and his forehead

* Ah right, the infinity he has around him

* You never realized it before but you wonder, can he ever feel anything?

* It must be lonely

* Gojo’s looking down at you, swallowing a lump in his throat.

* The expression on your face looks so tender, and you’re so close he can smell your scent

* And he feels a sudden urge to cry, to bury his face in your shoulder and weep like a child

* He’s watching you open your mouth, you’re about to say something-

* When you both feel a large burst of cursed energy

* Your heads snap to the direction you sense it from only to see a small boy

* You recognize him as Megumi Fushiguro, your target for this so-called ‘mission’

* He’s younger than you expected, he can’t be older than 10

* You turn to Gojo, you’re going to need a plan, someone that young is awfully impressionable. You have to do this with some tact

* But when you turn to look he’s gone

* “Huh?”

* You can practically see the outline of his form where he was standing just a second ago, your neck creaking as you turn to where Megumi-Kun is standing

* “Your father sold you to the Zenin Clan”

* You might appear calm and collected on the outside, but I promise you your soul has ascended to the fourth dimension where you are just screaming into the void

* “Well does it make you mad? Does it-“ Gojo’s waggling his fingers like a god damn perv when you basically apparate to his side and bring your fist down on his head

* “Oi, Baka prince what the hell do you think you’re doing?!?”

* Gojo’s stumbles back, nursing the emotional wound you just gave him and you crouch down

* “Don’t listen to anything that moronic man just told you, he’s got no tact” you tell the boy

* He’s a cutie, like the male version of Snow White.

* Though his expression tells you he’s about had it with this reality

* “Yeah I can see that”

* “Well he might act like a moron, but he’s got a pretty decent heart”

* You spell out the situation to Megumi as tactfully as you can, opting to treat him like an adult.

* “These are your options as I see them, you can go to the Zenin clan, or, that Baka prince already stopped the sale in return for you promising to join our academy”

* You and Megumi get along pretty well, you’re kindred souls

* Besides you both seem to be able to see right through Gojo’s princely appearance

* “Why did you guys leave me behind?” Gojo shrieks, Megumi’s hand is in your own, both of your free hands holding ice cream cones

* Megumi immediately makes a face, it had been so quiet while he was gone too

* You can’t help but sympathize with the kid, you used to feel that way before you got to know Gojo too

* You were just showing Megumi around the campus, helping him get familiar, and you thought you should reward him a little with a treat for being such a good kid

* Besides you like him

* Of course Gojo wanted to tag along, teasing Megumi half of the time like a damn idiot and spending the other half of the time giving flirtatious winks to women who seemed interested in him.

* Gojo’s making a scene and Megumi looks like he’s a second from throwing a tantrum too

* You sigh, you don’t get paid enough for having to deal with these two children

* “Here” when Gojo looks up, bright blue eyes peering over his black glasses he sees a scoop full of his favorite ice cream balancing on top of a chocolate-dipped waffle cone

* “But what about you?” He asks and the questions catches you off guard, since when has Gojo cared about anyone but himself?

* “I don’t want any, I just thought it would be good to get in line while we waited.”

* You didn’t think you would actually get to the front of the line before he caught up though.

* “No! You waited in line that whole time, here we can take share, take the first bite”

* You’ve kept your cool in front of Gojo for years but something about the expectant expression he’s giving you - the tops of his cheeks bright pink- and those bright blue eyes looking at you while holding out the ice cream cone that makes you flustered

* You can feel your face grow warm, geez what’s gotten into him

* To make matters worse you’re having a hard time saying no to him right now

* Something about those crystal blue eyes has you almost mesmerized

* And then Megumi stands up on the bench and takes a giant bite from the cone

* Cue Gojo screaming and crying because, goddammit he was this close to an indirect kiss with you-

* “Why did you do that?” He shrieks, he’s crouched on the ground, face bright red in anger and anguish

* “I don’t know, the green tea ice cream looked good” Megumi shrugs, only for Gojo to start shrieking again

* Gojo and Megumi are about a second from a fistfight when they hear laughter

* The gentle twinkling gets louder and they both instinctively turn towards it

* You’re laughing so hard you’re clutching your stomach, tears forming at the corners of your eyes

* “Geez you guys are like something out of a cartoon.” You manage to say in between laughs

* Megumi’s eyes widen

* He’s seen you smile before, but he’s never seen you laugh like that

* Megumi wonders what he’s thinking right bow

* His eyes trail to Gojo

* Gojo looks at you like you just hung the moon

* Like he’s a child seeing fireworks for the first time

* Megumi will never forget the look on Gojo’s face for as long as he lives

* ‘So that’s what it looks like when you love someone’ Megumi thinks

* Gojo pats Megumi on the head

* “Thanks kid, because of you I got to see something nice”

* You guys grow a lot closer because of Megumi, becoming sort of surrogate older siblings to him and Tsumiki

* “Why did you bring a Kotatsu?” You and Megumi are standing in the doorway holding takeout and oranges

* “Winter time just doesn’t feel right without a Kotatsu, isn’t that right Tsumiki-Chan?”

* The young girl grins as she nods, snuggling deeper into the blanket

* You and Megumi give each other an incredulous look

* Leave it to a little rich boy like Gojo Satoru to buy a Kotatsu for a casual hang out just because it’s winter

* Still-

* You watch as Megumi and Tsumiki cuddle under the Kotatsu, peeling oranges

* The kids seem to be enjoying it

* Gojo pats the spot next to him

* “I saved you a spot (Y/N/N), I promise I won’t bite” but Gojo’s giving you that same teasing grin he always used to give you

* Looks like things are back to normal

* You sigh taking a seat beside him, stealing your resolve as you put up with his incessant teasing

* Everything is back to the way it was...so why do you still feel that prickle in your stomach every time he looks at you?

* And the following weeks that familiar sensation makes appearances several times, leaving you more confused each time

* It’s not until you’re walking in Shibuya, one of your hands holding Megumi’s and the other one holding a Taiyaki full of ice cream that you realize

* “Gojoooooo” the woman in front of you whines “you’re so mean, I can’t believe you didn’t call me, because I know you had a good time”

* The woman’s pouty expression turns wolffish in a second

* Ah, so that’s where he learned to smile like that

* You and Megumi are mostly just enjoying the show, eating your ice cream and watching as Satoru tries to placate this woman

* “I’ve just been taking some time to better myself-“

* You snort, yeah you’re sure he’s been bettering himself with his dozen other lovers

* Honestly serves him right for fooling around with so many people. You’re surprised he’s not habitually in the infirmary for a new STD

* “You see, I’m a father now”

* You sputter choking on your ice cream. Megumi pats your back

* That idiot prince has really gone and done it now-

* Having an illegitimate child,

* Yaga-Sensei is going to kill him

* Not to mention what his clan might do

* Gojo looks back at you with warm eyes

* And you feel that pricking feeling again

* “Megumi is my pride and joy”

* Huh?

* Oh

* OHHHHH

* So that’s his game.

* What a sleaze bag using someone else’s kid as an excuse to get out of an uncomfortable romantic encounter

* Megumi squeezes your hand and you look down

* The look on his face could kill a man

* “I’d never call a pervert like you my Father”

* So Megumi woke up and chose violence today-

* You figure Gojo will laugh and cover it up with some jokes like ‘kids these days no respect for their elders’ or something

* But when you look at Gojo he looks genuinely hurt, those vibrant blue eyes look watery, and that pretty mouth that’s always curled in a grin is curved into a soft frown.

* And before you know what you’re doing you say-

* “Megumi-Chan you shouldn’t be so mean to your Father, he let you have ice cream before dinner didn’t he?”

* .

* ...

* .....

* WHY DID YOU JUST SAY THAT

* Megumi and Gojo are both looking at you with vacant stares

* Megumi is still in shock that you took Gojo’s side in this

* But Gojo’s looking right at you, cheeks holding a rosy tinge

* And then something amazing happens

* Gojo smiles at you-

* Not that wolfish smile he’s been showing you for years as he teases you, or that princely smile he uses to get something he wants

* It’s a genuine smile

* And you can’t help but think he doesn’t look at all like the most powerful sorcerer, he just looks like a boy

* Ah, there’s that painful prickle again

* “I love my family so won’t see you anymore, go ahead and delete my contact information,” Gojo says with a grin

* He walks over to you in long strides, hoisting Megumi up and carrying him all while the woman shouts obscenities

* “Come on (Y/N/N), let’s go home,” he says, his hand moving to hold your own

* And all you can do is let him tug you forward

* Your gaze lingers on your intertwined hands, the heat that radiates from his palm even though there’s an infinity between you both

* Your eyes trail up to look at his broad back, the way he holds Megumi so easily even though he’s pulling on Gojo’s hair

* The prickle intensifies as you watch them

* ‘He would make a good Dad his spouse will be lucky’ you think

* And then it hits you

* Oh

* Oh no

* Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no

* You’re in love with Gojo Satoru

* The f*ckboy extraordinaire

* F*ck

* How did this even happen? You had been so careful, you were even apart of that down with Gojo Satoru club with Nanami and Geto

* Are they going to revoke your membership now?

* F*********ck

* “Hurry up and put me down you pervert!” Megumi shouts, a fistful of Gojo’s white hair in his hand

* “Ora Ora, you shouldn’t be mean to papa like that Megumi-Chan” Gojo teases, not even the slightest bit fazed

* Megumi’s only grabbing onto the infinity around his hair after all, so it probably doesn’t hurt

* “Here Megumi,” you abandon your ice cream without a thought, carefully lifting him out of Gojo’s hold and onto the ground

* Megumi doesn’t say anything, he only holds your hand in his

* “Hold Papa’s hand too Megumi-Chan otherwise I’ll feel lonely” Gojo teases, but you can tell he really does want Megumi to hold his hand

* “If it’ll get you to shut up” Megumi grumbles, but he reached up, taking Gojo’s hand in his

* The three of you probably look like a family, and this time the prickling feels warm, like a tickle across your stomach

* Like butterflies

* F********************ck

* “For F*cks sake, how am I going to get out of this one” you mumble to yourself

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu icons #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru headcanon #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru jjk #satoru gojo

535 notes · View notes

myketheartista · 3 years

Text

The Masquerade: How They Came To Be

This is a small headcanon type of thing that I thought of the morning after the stream, so I’m obviously obsessed with these two so much to the point where I made lore for how Sir Billiam and his butler met. To make things easier on myself, I just called the butler Ranboo since I didn’t want to mess too much with canon by giving him a new name.

***Warnings: Light violence, mentions of killing/death, manipulation (from the egg, but just thought I’d include it just in case)***

**Please remember that this is not canon. I took some liberties and assumed a few things based on prior knowledge. Oh, and don’t take things out of context. This is NOT shipping, and I’m putting this here because I know some people will question the way I write them interacting. I don’t condone any shipping with Ranboo or Techno, and that goes for any and all characters they play.

Please enjoy! And leave your thoughts if you’d like :)

Billiam finds the egg. Builds the mansion around it to keep it safe and hidden because it seems like something bizarre enough that could earn him a good sum of money. Sell pieces of it, get rich, live a long, good life swimming in wealth.

He wants to see what it does too, but the more time he spends with it, the more corrupts his mind becomes. Soft whispers that scratch at the walls of his head, telling him to give-- give himself, give others, just give to the egg. And in the beginning stages, it isn’t so bad. He just sees the egg as something valuable. Value slowly transitions into a sort of obsession. He must protect it, feed it, take care of it so no one else will hurt it. If he helps the egg, it’ll help him.

So when he finds a young boy wandering through the endless sea of trees surrounding his estate, he grows a bit defensive. It’s just some random kid, an inch or two shorter than Billiam with messy chocolate brown hair and a dazed look in his eyes (Oh, and he’s definitely lower than a commoner, just look at the mess he is!). Tattered clothes, no shoes, patches of dirt dusting his face and hands; he’s an awful sight. But a peculiar one at best with the notable pointed ears and extra set of canines fitted snug next to the original pair. Whatever he is, Billiam knows that he isn’t a threat, and he can recognize that much through the fog clouding his brain telling him to get rid of this unwelcomed stranger. More than anything, he pities him, and a frown crosses his lips when he tries to get some answers out of the kid, but he’s met with a confused tilt of the head and awkward silence. Well, by observing his overall condition, Billiam concludes that he has no where to go.

So...he takes him in. Not because he cares! He really shouldn’t and doesn’t care for someone of such low status, but seeing Ranboo scarf down a whole plate of whatever Billiam could find along with some cake and a few glasses of water makes him feel a bit uneasy...about- about how much food he can eat, yes, of course. If he’s going to be staying here, he can’t go around eating everything they have. He’ll have to set some ground rules for this new guest. Such as throwing out those old clothes and giving him one of his own dress shirts and a well-made vest he never ended up wearing. Ranboo asks him for help with his tie much too often, and that’s something that should aggravate him, (inability to do anything on his own, how annoying) but he finds himself walking Ranboo through the process each time he’s called for. All the while, as he helps this kid learn the ropes and shows him around, those harsh whispers demand he stop. Get rid of him. He stares at Ranboo, the boy who can’t even speak the language of this planet, can’t remember where he came from, hates eye contact and taking showers, doesn’t even know what he is, and he wonders how the egg could even tell him to kill someone as innocent as him.

Billiam decides he’ll be his butler. Ranboo doesn’t protest since he doesn’t even know what a butler is, but he agrees without complaint. Some conversation over dinner that turned into a fake contract that neither of them signed, but Billiam made the deal that Ranboo can stay if he does his part which was simply obeying him when he asked for the butler. This...quickly got out of hand. Whenever there’s a party and a handful of guests crowd through the front doors, Billiam makes it known that he has a butler, and a very bad one at that. Calls him in that sing-song voice and requests he fetch their new arrivals some wine only to degrade him and claim he’s going a week without food afterwards. Ranboo really doesn’t mind, partially because he can’t even refuse or talk back due to the limitations of his knowledge of the unfamiliar language of this place, but he’s also become a bit dedicated to serving Billiam. The man practically saved his life and gave him everything he could want. When he is allowed to speak, he’s always asking how many words since that’ll guide him towards forming a more accurate sentence with letters and syllables he’s not used to. More often than not, he sticks to humming his responses to make it easier on himself. Even then, there’s not much to worry about. He’s bad with social interaction and the guests rarely pay attention to him, so he often hides in the corner as they all participate in their games and conversations regarding the economy. The more he excludes himself, the more he misses the frequent disappearances of the guests. He never questions Billiam where they went, why they left so early into the evening, why the mansion has terrible lighting problems, (they should get that fixed, it’s quite troublesome) he just enjoys the eventual peace and quiet that fills their home once everyone is gone.

The parties increase throughout the months that Ranboo resides there. It’s exhausting being a butler when all he’s required to do is follow people’s orders-- how does Billiam do it? He’s the one who hosts them, greets everyone, plans the festivities and everything. He should ask him about that sometime. Instead of pestering him, he finds himself watching from the stairs as Billiam catches up with yet another group of friends. Hm...why doesn’t he just invite the same people over? Being rich must make you a lot of friends. But these people seem snobby and annoying. Ranboo doesn’t like them very much. He prefers to stay the way he is, and if that means he remains a “commoner”, then so be it. Billiam, on the other hand, doesn’t mind stepping into a new character every time he hosts one of these masquerades. The weird airy sound to his voice makes him appear friendlier, more trustworthy, but it always makes Ranboo put a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter. It’s utterly ridiculous and almost childish, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.

He enjoys the soft conversations they share in their far too big of a home when things are back to normal (And when did he start calling it their home?). They usually pass the time by Ranboo asking questions and Billiam responding to the best of his ability which makes him seem smarter than he probably is. But for someone who can’t seem to remember where they came from or how to communicate, Ranboo is grateful for anything Billiam can give him.

So one night, when he thinks they’ve grown close enough to where Ranboo can consider them friends, he wanders the mansion to find Billiam-- wants to ask him something, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s been months since he’s lived here, and he thinks he knows every nook and cranny of the mansion but…the longer he stares at that duplicate of a spider painting Billiam apparently commissioned someone to make despite the same painting hanging just a few feet over, he starts to feel an itch in the back of his mind. And when he finds the courage to move it aside, finds a secret entrance to a room he’s never seen before, he’s honestly baffled. The atmosphere of the room makes him feel off, and that itch starts to grow, manifests into a voice trying to peel through his thoughts and gain control. It makes him feel...uncomfortable…wrong. And when he sees Billiam standing at the end of the room, back facing him while he stares at a large red mass with vines trailing off of it, up the walls and across the floor tangling around Billiam’s feet, that discomfort shifts to something a little colder. He wanders into the room with light feet and a dry mouth, struggling to get his voice to work.

“Sir?”

The word doesn’t feel as foreign as other words do since it’s the one thing he’s gotten the hang of saying. He sees the visible tension build in Billiam’s shoulders and watches him turn around slowly to look at him, a chill trickling down his spine when he spots the sword in his hand. He gets no response, just a rather lifeless stare from Billiam. He speaks up again.

“Sir, what are you doing?”

It’s as if he was stuck in some sort of trance cause in an instant, a soft smile breaks out onto Billiam’s face and he gestures at Ranboo.

“What wonderful timing! Come closer, I’d like to show you something.”

Ranboo feels strange, but he pushes down the crippling sensation of dread pooling in his stomach and walks up to settle next to Billiam. He feels the light touch of a hand on his back, tensing up as he stares at the oddly shaped...something before them.

“What is this?”

Billiam looks so giddy when he hears the question.

“It’s the egg.”

And Ranboo breaks away from the “egg” to stare at Billiam.

“Pardon?”

Billiam looks at him, and it’s now that Ranboo notices the glint in his eye, the way his once brown irises swirl with red, and the look he gives him reminds him of the expression he wore when they first met.

Pity.

“My dear butler, it’s the egg! It’s a truly magnificent thing, is it not?”

And Ranboo can only stare awkwardly between the egg and the man who he’s lived with all of his life because what the hell is he going on about?

“I, uh,... I don’t seem to understand.”

Billiam’s expression softens, still holding that little ounce of pity that Ranboo has begun to dislike.

“You’ll understand soon enough. Come.”

And the hand on his back gently pushes him forward, guiding him as they walk, and Ranboo feels his heels involuntarily drag against the stone floor, putting up some resistance. That pool of dread begins to manifest into something else. An icy, prickling puddle of fear. Billiam is putting himself behind him as Ranboo draws closer to the egg, and the whispering only grows louder, clawing at his brain and sending a jolt of pain to his skull as it screams at him. It’s becoming too much, it hurts, but Billiam’s hand seems to latch onto the back of his vest, twisting and pushing him downwards just inches from the egg to where he’s on his knees and his hands are planted on the cold concrete below him. He realizes, as goosebumps trail up his arms and his eyes begin to sting, that he’s never quite felt fear before up until now. He doesn’t like it too much. All he can do is stare at the red in front of him, watch as the little vines underneath his hands sprout up from the cracks of the floor and curl around his fingers. The grip on his vest tightens, and he’s painfully reminded who’s doing this to him.

“Do you hear it?”

He just nods, exhaling shakily and struggling to take in any air as the panic settles inside of his chest.

“It’s loud.” He voice wavers as it comes out weak and afraid, and he hears Billiam hum, pleased with the answer.

“What’s it saying?”

And he can’t respond because he doesn’t know, it’s speaking a language he’s never heard, he can’t translate it. He feels the urge to hurt, to kill, to follow, to obey, feels fingers digging into his brain and pulling him forward as if he understands what it’s saying after all, but it all seems like gibberish to him. He feels nothing but everything at once. The grip on his vest tugs lightly, and he swallows thickly.

“I...I don’t know.”

He can practically feel the disappointment radiating off of Billiam when he gives the answer, and he suddenly regrets saying anything at all. He hears Billiam shift and the grip loosens by just a hair.

“Is he not worthy?” Billiam mutters to himself, but…it sounds like it’s directed to someone. Some thing. Ranboo doesn’t know, but it’s said so quietly and sounds…sad. After a few seconds of silence and Ranboo watching those tiny red vines curiously curl even more around his fingers and onto his hand in an attempt to travel up his wrist, he feels the hand leave his back. A sigh escapes him, and he goes to push himself off of the ground to sit on his knees, but a sharp pain quickly replaces the hand, breaking through the layers of fabric and grazing the skin of his back. A strangled noise crawls out of his throat and he ducks his head, trying to arch his back away from the tip of the sword angled towards him.

“Sir?” He sounds so pathetic, so desperate, he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions but he feels like he’s about to be killed by the man who took him in and that’s certainly not settling well in his stomach. Billiam remains silent and that’s what scares him because silence doesn’t seem like a good thing, especially in a situation such as this. The silence lasts for what seems like minutes, but he hears a frustrated huff come from behind him and the sword disappears from his back right when he thinks it’ll slip through him.

“Stand up.”

Ranboo is quick to obey, ignoring the trembling in his legs and wringing his hands together to calm the light shaking that’s taken over them. He hesitantly turns to look at Billiam who’s staring back at him with those red eyes that seem a bit duller this time around. He wants to back away when Billiam moves towards him, but his feet refuse to move and a hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle and somewhat comforting despite the situation.

“You don’t feel anything?”

It seems like he’s desperate now, looking for an answer that will settle the uncertainty bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and red eyes beginning to lose their glow. Somewhat back to normal. Ranboo pauses for a long moment, hesitant, terrified, legs shaking and throat closing up at the thought of what Billiam will do if he receives an answer he isn’t particularly fond of.

“...No.”

It takes his entire body to force the word out because even though he was on his knees moments ago, pleading that he’d wake up, that this was just a very intense dream where everything felt too real for his liking, somewhere deep down he believes Billiam won’t be mad and kill him right where he stands. That expression only reassures him because it’s coming from the only person he knows to trust.

Billiam sighs again and looks down, a bit defeated, maybe even confused because what is he to do now? He can’t even go through with sacrificing this kid he’s grown a damn attachment to and that’s a problem. If he isn’t the one to admit it, the egg is there to remind him. His hand slides down Ranboo’s arm, hanging limply by his side as his voice grows quiet.

“Do you trust me?”

And Ranboo doesn’t have anything else to say but the immediate “Yes.” that follows. Billiam looks up at him, a bit surprised but gaze a tad softer than it was before.

“What was your name again?”

Ranboo’s hands wring together some more, and he mindlessly picks at the vines that have embedded themselves into his skin. He goes to speak, but his tongue falls differently against the roof of his mouth and clicks against his teeth in a way that Billiam won’t understand. And even though that ends up being true, Billiam still smiles at him and a trickle of warmth spreads throughout Ranboo’s chest.

“Just do as I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Ranboo can’t find it in him to defy what Billiam says.

So when he gives him the sword and tells him to kill the guests that enter their home, he does so without question. He follows his commands as gentle as they are, and he listens to the garbled whispering brushing the edges of his mind. And if his eyes appear a bit redder when he goes to look in the mirror, he doesn’t bring it up to Billiam. He still picks at those little red vines that have melded into his skin as he watches the larger vines of the egg curl around the bodies he’s dragged to this secret room, hidden away from any curious eyes. And throughout the ruthless killings and Ranboo’s slow descent into madness, Billiam continues to treat him the same way, apologizing later on for the small scar on his back. He simply shrugs the apology off and gives him a smile, dragging…what was his name again? James? The name rings a bell, but he disregards the vague feeling of guilt crawling its way into his chest and continues to drag him away by the legs.

Even when he goes back to get Karl and sees the edges of his body disintegrating into little white speckles of what looks like dust, he doesn’t question it or show Billiam. Delivers his body to the egg regardless of whatever strange deterioration Karl’s body was undergoing. Another party, another meal for the egg. As long as Billiam is happy, so is his loyal butler.

#headcanon machine goes brr #dsmp drabbles #dream smp #tales from the smp #sir billiam #ranbutler #technoblade #ranboo #mcyt #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #fanfic #long post #dream smp fic #tftsmp #AND THERE WE GO #took me a few days to edit it and make it pretty but #i just thought of this the morning after the stream and i just #LOST my mind #i just enjoy soft billiam taking this kid in and making him a butler #them being goofy and having almost a mentor and apprentice typa thing goin on #and i do think ranboo isnt as effected by the egg at first because i like the whole desire thing #ranboo doesnt have any immediate desires since he never knew WHAT to desire but #after ranboo discovers billiam with the egg i think his desire becomes to serve billiam to the best of his ability #so he begins that slow descent into madness as i said above #but yeah! i like the headcanon that ranboo is still part enderman in this period of time but #more human than anything #still six feet like irl ranboo bc billiam is pretty tall for bein piglin and all but #the only traits he really has are extra pointy teeth and pointed ears #his height is barely effected

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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🎀 scarlet ribbons.

ITS SELF INDULGENT FRIDAY BOIS !! time for scarlet ribbons headcanons that i’ve been working on in between commissions, this is essentially just a reverse harem ... there’s no yandere here for once, just some vibes... click here for an explanation ! the reader described here is the same in all the scenarios. i’m using she/her pronouns for this reader.

Bruno Bucciarati;

He forms a special kind of attachment to you, seeing as you’ll be the second person to join his team. You won over his compassionate heart, preventing a much crueler fate. As a foreign exchange student, you had taken out a loan with Passione to complete your education. The problem is, the egregious amount of interest being too much for you to pay back on time. Bucciarati had been ordered to collect your debt. Instead of following through with his orders, he used his favor with Polpo to let you pay back your debt by working for Passione under his leadership.

Appreciates the dynamic and resolve you bring to the group. While he tries his best not to show favoritism to any members of his team, you’re someone he always looks out for extra much. Not because he thinks of you incapable, but because his care for you runs deep after knowing you for years. He’s definitely going to catch onto the others holding similar feelings for you though.

Acts a bit different towards you in one on one scenarios, versus when the others are around. He’s more relaxed when it’s only the two of you, speaking of matters not relating to work and checking up on your well being. Bruno realizes he could listen to you for hours, enjoying your unique perspective. He also finds your foreign accent endearing, and has mentioned it to see how you blush at the compliment.

Super sweet with you, always has looked out for your best interest. He’s your go to when you feel stressed about your situation, providing the support you need, since he’s the only person aware of your circumstances. Bruno is reassuring, helping you in the moments the debt to the organization feels impossible to overcome. He’s offered to help pay for part of it, but you always refuse, feeling grateful enough to him as is. It pains him to see you hurting, but he does anything he can to make you feel better. Always pays for your meals though, no matter how much you raise a fuss about it.

Giorno Giovanna;

There’s a certain warmth in you that he wasn’t sure what to think of at first. Giorno is an astute individual, making observations from afar, watching you joking and smiling with the rest of the team. He eventually comes to the conclusion that your presence fills his stomach with butterflies, seeing your more lighthearted approach to life. There’s something intoxicating about it, and he’ll jump for any opportunity to spend time with you much to the annoyance of everyone else, they already had enough competition wtf.

He’s a coy little shit at times. Giorno sees how the others look at you, especially how obvious Narancia and Mista are. When they get defensive over how much Giorno is talking to you, he’ll just flash a faux innocent smile and ask what the problem with it is. It’s more effective on Narancia, who just ends up sputtering before slinking away in defeat. Mista can kinda deflect the accusation better, though there’s still a blush on his face. Giorno knows what he’s doing lmaoo

It infuriates Abbacchio how obvious he is with you, like, the audacity of this man. Just swinging into Bucciarati’s team, trying to woo you away. Giorno is always asking for your opinion on how to proceed with certain things, even if his mind has already been made up. Anything just to talk to you. Most likely going to receive Abbacchio’s scorn the most for this, especially since Giorno will lean closer to you when you’re answering his questions. Giorno is just going :) , meanwhile Narancia is furiously taking notes. (”Okay, so if I ask [First] about this, I have an excuse to get closer to her...!)

He did strongly in school, maybe not as well as Fugo but is definitely academically gifted. So that means when he enters the picture, Fugo has some Competition for the English speaking buddy role. Giorno can understand most simple phrases and is capable of following the conversation, occasionally interjecting when he feels confident enough. Fugo might try and make his conversations with you more complicated because of this, since he’s petty and wants all your attention. You’re meant to be his English speaking buddy >:( !!

To be honest, Giorno’s not really sure what he’s doing, despite the suave impression he gives. Giorno has charisma, sure, but this is all very new to him. He’s still learning as he goes, and pays very close attention to how everyone else interacts with you. Anything to see your preferences, so he can use it to his advantage later. Has a large mental file on you, that comes in handy. He isn’t so much flirty, but more seeking out your company and thoughts on things.

Guido Mista;

Poor Mista almost friendzones himself in a way... he doesn’t mean to, but he wants to warm up to you in his own way!! And that way is through joking around and a lot of “friendly” banter. The friendly banter is more like thinly veiled flirting. He tries so hard to act cool and mysterious around you, like a Clint Eastwood character. Ends up being super goofy, though it works in his favor since he gets to see your cute smile!!! Victory!!

Mista has no shame. He’ll show up outside your apartment, food in hand, saying he wants to come over and hang. He even lets you pick the movie if that’s what you want to do!! A true honor, since Mista is willing to sit through stuff he wouldn’t normally be interested in all for the sake of winning you over. <33

Probably tied with Narancia for the most Unfortunate Mishaps to occur when attempting to woo you. Some favorites include, but are not limited to: when he tried giving you flowers but they kept making him sneeze, that time he was leaning against your door frame and fell over, and basically anything that happens when the Pistols come out. They wanna be his lil wing men, but they keep screwing him over... :<

“[First]!! [First]!! We’re bored, come hang out with us instead!!!!” You’ll end up with a flurry of Pistols swirling around you very often, putting Mista’s affection for you on full display. It irritates Fugo the most, he almost wants to smack them away like they’re flies lmao. They might start sweatin’ when they see Fugo’s eyebrow twitch, the Stand often interrupting your conversations with the blonde. Mista tests his patience for sure.

Pannacotta Fugo;

A bit of a typical tsun towards you at first. He’s all acting high and mighty, huffing about the newest member of the team not being as bright as him. In reality he just thinks you’re vvv cute, and doesn’t know how to process it. You greet him and his brain just kinda short circuits, and he gives a standoffish insult before running off to hide his blush. Bruno would find it endearing if not for his feelings for you lmao.

How he gets over this initial stump at the start of your relationship is by acting like you need his help. Especially if you stumble over any Italian words, namely Naples lingo being more difficult to master. He takes it upon himself to help you out... in reality he just really wants to spend more time with you. Also, seeing you stumble over words is precious, he tries not to tease you about it though. Does occasionally...

You end up being roommate at the start!!! To save money, but it’s whatever, who cares about the practical reasoning behind it. What matters is that he gets to spend even more time with you than the others. The problem is that Narancia and Mista make a point to come by often, which he finds to be very irritating. They even crash at your shared apartment at times, but because of how messy they are, don’t get an invitation to live permanently. Fugo is smug about how you picked him due to his cleanliness >:)c

English speaking buddies !! He might not be fluent in it, but he’s better at it than everyone else. Also a lot more capable of learning it, just for the sake of impressing you. Gets this very pleased look on his face when you two speak in simple English, Narancia staring over, pouting for being left out. It’s like a special connection or something, not that Fugo would ever admit to saying that to you. He’s flexing his academic muscles.

Narancia Ghirgha;

Anyone could look over at Narancia and see his huge heart eyes for you. You like the same foreign music as him!! You can speak another language!! He wants to learn English from you, and keeps asking. Sometimes butchers the pronunciation but god it’s so cute who cares. Teach Narancia one phrase and he’s gonna be saying it nonstop for the rest of the week. Fugo, the only other member to understand English on a decent level until GioGio, is gonna be miserable whenever this happens. That’s his thing with you! Why can’t Narancia get something else, smh ...

If you recommend him a song he will not stop listening to it. Also expect a lot of discussions about different artists, mostly hip hop ones when Narancia is leading the conversation. He thinks it’s so cool you understand what they’re saying!! Is gonna ask you to translate them a lot. He kinda just stares at you, mouth agape when you’re singing along, like woah!! His crush is so talented.

His most treasured moments with you, is when you recommend one another music, and share headphones. Sometimes you just bob your head to the rhythm, or sing along. Whatever the case, he gets to be close to you, and his brain is practically turning to mush at the fact your thighs are touching.

Fugo did him dirty once in the past. Before Narancia realized he had Competition for your affections, he went to Fugo, asking how to compliment you in English. He should’ve known by how Fugo was staring at him with the most malicious smirk that he made a mistake. The next day, when meeting up at Libeccio, he came up to you. Chest puffed out, proud after a night of practicing his phrase. Then proceeded to say to you in English, “I am a fucking idiot!!!!” looking all smiley and excited. Needless to say, you almost spit out your food and laughed about it for a long time. Narancia has been planning his revenge on Fugo ever since...

Narancia follows you around like a lost puppy at times, but he’s a lot of fun to hang out around!! He’ll buy you gelato, and even lets you have a bite of his food if you ask. No one else has this special privilege. There is a time you offered to let him try a sip of your drink, and he almost melted. All his brain could think of is, indirect kiss, indirect kiss!!!! One of the best moments of his life tbh.

Leone Abbacchio;

Abbacchio put a lot of effort into distancing himself from you. Why do you smile so much?? It makes him uncomfortable being around you, someone who is basically sunshine stuffed into a human body. It reminds him of all his shortcomings, which he feels he has no shortage of. But when you make the initially irritating decision to keep speaking to him, only giving space when you felt he really needed it, it won over his little grinch heart.

He’s been wrapped around your finger ever since. Unlike the other bumbling buffoons who are tripping over themselves to get an ounce of your attention, he plays it cool. More of a Bucciarati approach to things. Asking about your interests, letting you do most of the talking so he has no chance to embarrass himself (like *cough* Narancia *cough*).

Next to Fugo, is most likely to call other members out on their nonsense. He wouldn’t dare do so for Bruno, but everyone else is fair game. The main victim to this treatment is Giorno. Abbacchio might even offer some “advice” to him, giving false information all under the guise of assisting Giorno’s pursuit of you. He takes a more hands off approach on everyone else.

He doesn’t want to invite you over to his place because of how dreary it is, so he has to find other ways to get one on one time with you. This mostly happens by talking about things no one else finds of interest to you, namely makeup or other fashion things.

You are the only person who gets to call him any nicknames, the one you lean towards typically being Abba. Narancia once made a mistake of calling him this, only to earn a very threatening glare. When you do it though, he has to push down the urge to smile. How cute!!

Trish Una;

Gay rights time . Trish looks at you and immediately thinks wow, perfect girlfriend material right there. Still acts a bit reserved at first, considering her complex situation and how she’s still piecing it all together in her heard. Since you’re the only other girl on the team, she gets the benefit of Bucciarati assigning you to be extra close to her. All according to plan heheh >:)

When she flirts, she goes all in. Asking about what kind of perfume you wear, your favorite shade of lipstick, what kind of outfits you like the most. All of it is under the pretense of getting to know you better, and while she does enjoy that aspect of it, she might start adopting some of the things you find appealing. She is 100% gonna ask to borrow your shirts and makeup, and extends the same offer to you.

Trish is far more playful with you than the others, who all just kinda stare at the interactions like ??? When you were her bodyguard, she always subconsciously went to sit down next to you. No one else on the team can say anything, since she’s the boss’ daughter after all !! She considered you more of a distraction from her anxiety inducing situation at first, seeing as you had shared interests to speak about. Over time, your doting nature over her won out.

Would be pissed if you ever got hurt trying to defend her. You might joke around about how you’re her bodyguard, not the other way around. Trish just can’t bear the thought of losing someone important to her, after all she’s already lost.

Her phone background is a selfie the two of you took, even after she eventually distances herself from Passione to advance her singing career. Expect lots of texts messages, checking up on how you’re doing!! Trish unfortunately has a busy schedule, that requires a lot of traveling for her concerts and other bookings. Though anytime she is near Naples, she’s messaging you and asking to meet up. <33

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ravennm84 · 4 years

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Lyre Festival Fraud

This was another prompt that I found and just ran with it. The prompt itself was based on the Fyre Festival Disaster that happened in 2017 where 5,000 people were scammed out of thousands of dollars per ticket for what was supposed to be a luxury music festival. I didn’t take the story to quite that scale since most middle schoolers don’t have that kind of cash. There will be a sequel to this coming out soon. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Over the past few weeks since Marinette had come back to class, she couldn’t help but notice that Lila seemed to be up to something new. For one, the Italian girl hadn’t been bothering her as much as before. There was still the occasional quip and barb thrown in her direction, but nothing compared to what she had been doing before. She wanted to write it off to the deal Adrien had made with the girl, the blonde had confessed the truth to her after the photoshoot and promised her that he would never let things get that out of hand ever again. But something just didn’t seem right.

Lila was sticking to a single story about a party that she was planning on an island south of Venice over the long weekend next month. She was going on and on about it being a private island, with beautiful scenery and a rich history. Her mother was setting it up for a bunch of politicians, and all of the celebrities Lila knew were coming. A five-star chef would be there to make everyone the most amazing food. Many of the musicians she knew were planning to do jam-sessions, so there would be live music. The way she described it, it was going to be the biggest private event that Lila had ever been involved with.

Marinette and Adrien kept keen ears pointed in her direction, more than they normally would. Something about this particular story seemed different from her usual lies. It didn’t sit well with either of them

They could admit, the Italian was smoother with this lie than she was with any other she had spouted since joining their class. She had started mentioning the party a little here and there, then the different celebrities, then the hotel and bringing in the chef. How expensive it all was and how her mother was planning everything. Then, the following week, Lila dropped a bomb that had almost the entire class squealing and scrambling.

“You won’t believe it! Mama said that I could invite all my friends to come to the party so I’ll have more people my age to talk to!” Lila gushed as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Seriously! That’s awesome, girl!” Alya cheered excitedly.

“But I have to be up front with all of you about something, and I want you to know that if I had my way I would never ask, but my mom insisted.” Lila’s expression quickly turned uncertain as she looked around at her ‘friends’ before taking a breath and continuing. “Whoever wants to come, has to take care of their own travel and pay €300 up front for the food and accommodations. I really wish I didn’t have to say that, but there was nothing I could do to change her mind.”

“That’s completely understandable, dudette.” Nino grinned as she slung his arm around Alya’s shoulders. “But still, for two nights in a swanky hotel and all our meals handled, that’s a total steal. When would you need the money?”

Lila’s face lit up again saying that she would need the money at least a week before the party so her mother could book enough rooms and make sure there would be enough food. Mylene asked if they needed their parents to escort them, and Lila promised to get them the needed forms to travel. She also asked Alya not to post anything about this on her blog, as this was supposed to be a private thing with a lot of big-name people and they couldn’t risk word getting out. The journalist readily agreed but made Lila promise that she would be allowed to post pictures after the weekend was over, which Lila readily agreed.

Marinette and Adrien looked on with worry as their classmates began making plans for the weekend in a few weeks. After class let out for the day, Adrien convinced his body guard that he needed to study with Marinette for an upcoming test. Since the man liked the girl, her parents, and had a soft spot for their bakery’s salted caramel scones; he allowed it. Up in her room, the two teens set their homework aside and jumped on Marinette’s computer to see what was going on with the Italian.

“What do you think she’s up to?” Adrien asked her.

“Not sure, but it’s strange that she kept saying how I shouldn’t ask for money when I do commissions, then turns around and asks for €300 per person.” She says, looking up private islands near Venice. “I mean, she has to know that she can’t just ask for money from everyone and then not follow through since she would have to give all of their money back.”

“Agreed, she could try and say that the money was non-refundable, but I don’t think they would accept that.”

She hummed in agreement before pulling up a map. “The only private island I can find close by is Isola Santa Christina, but that’s North-East of Venice, not South. And I checked the availability for that weekend, and it’s not reserved. The only island South of Venice that could be considered ‘private’ is Poveglia.”

The blonde’s brow shot up when he heard the name. “Isn’t that the haunted island that’s been closed off to tourists for a long time?”

“Since the 1960s, when the mental asylum closed.” She nodded, as she continued to read. “And before that, it was where they sent people dying of plague and other diseases to die and be buried. It says right here, there’s over 160,000 people buried there in ‘plague pits’ and it’s nearly impossible to walk five meters without walking over someone’s remains.”

Adrien’s lip curled in disgust as he read the information and history of the island over the French-Asian girl’s shoulder. “Well, she did say that the island was private, historic and had a view. And the island does have a lot of history and it’s private.”

“And there was a plan to turn the old asylum into a luxury hotel a few years back, but that fell through.”

They continued reading the different articles on different islands around Venice, but none of them seemed to fit. Adrien agreed that Lila wouldn’t be so sloppy with her lies to invite everyone to a weekend party and then have to give everyone their money back… but what if she never had to see anyone again?

“Do you mind if I look something up really quick?”

“Did you think of something?” She asked while standing from her desk chair so he could take a look.

“It’s just a hunch,” he muttered, his fingers quickly typing at the keys. “I think you’re right, Lila wouldn’t ask for money if she was just going to have to turn around and give it back, even if she used the ‘deposit’ excuse to keep part of it for herself. That can only mean that something else is going on.”

It took a few minutes, but he found what he was looking for on the Italian Embassy’s website and twitter page. Different people wishing Ambassador Rossi a fond goodbye before she transfers back to Italy before the holiday weekend. “She’s not coming back,” he said between gritted teeth while Marinette looked over his shoulder.

“I want to say that I can’t believe Lila would do something like this, but she purposely got me expelled, almost got me akumatized, and almost caused another Scarlet Moth incident. Stealing from people she won’t see again is well within the boundaries of what she can do.”

Adrien turned the chair to look Marinette in the eyes. “What should we do? We tried the high road, that was a mistake and I’m still kicking myself for saying that, but we can’t just sit back and let all of them get scammed for €300.”

“It will be more than that,” worry evident in her voice. “It will be the €300, whatever they have to spend on their tickets there and back, and whatever money they’ll spend on someplace to stay while they’re there, if they stay in Venice.”

“We have to try,” Adrien said, just as determined when he forced Lila to lie to get Marinette back into school. “Maybe if we talk to everyone, one person at a time and explain what we found, we might be able to convince them to look into things a little deeper and figure it out themselves.”

Marinette hesitated. “They didn’t believe me before, why would they believe me now?”

“Because I’ll be with you every step of the way to show them that it’s not just you, I promise.”

~oOo~

Adrien kept his promise, he stayed with Marinette as they pulled their classmates aside to show them what they found. Nathaniel, Juleka, Rose and Chloe seemed to really listen to them and agreed that it seemed a little too good to be true. The others were more hesitant to listen and turned their questions to Lila, who was quick to spin her lies about the comments on Twitter being taken out of context, that her mother’s coworkers were only saying goodbye for the weekend. Then she turned on the fake tears and accused them of spreading rumors and lies when she was just trying to do something nice for her friends. That resulted in the majority of the class shunning Marinette and Adrien for the weeks leading up to the holiday.

Nearly the entire class gave Lila €300 each before the deadline she had set. Adrien and Marinette had been ‘uninvited’ to the party; Chloe scoffed and said that she wasn’t about to waste her time with a bunch of people she didn’t even like; and Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose all claimed that they couldn’t afford it. Lila was leaving school a couple days before the weekend to “help her mom prepare for the party” but gave everyone instructions on which dock to meet at for the boat to pick them up and ferry them to the island.

Friday morning, the two of them tried again, practically pleading with their friends not to go, that it had all been a scam. This was met with a lot of harsh words, insults, and Alya declaring that she could no longer be friends with someone as vindictive and jealous as Marinette. That left the girl in tears, but the four that stayed behind were quick to comfort her and took her back to her house after school for a movie night. After the others left, Marinette sent a quick email, hoping for a positive response.

The movie night was followed by a jam-session on Saturday at Juleka and Luka’s place. It was a blast to have Adrien on the keyboard with Kitty Section again, it was a little difficult without a drummer but it was still fun. When Marinette got home, she was relieved to see a response to her email waiting for her and read it before she went to bed.

They had a picnic in the park on Sunday, along with Marc, where Adrien was having a photoshoot so he could sit and eat with them during his breaks. The photographer liked the natural energy and look of the group so much that he took multiple pictures of the three couples, as Vincent put it. There was another email waiting for her when she got home, she read that one twice and rewrote her response three times before sending it.

On Monday, the six of them hung out at the bakery with Tom showing Marinette’s friends how to make the perfect croissant and the best way to pipe frosting onto cupcakes. They had a blast and ended up having a frosting fight at one point, which ended with a large round of giggles and Adrien striking a victory pose since he had gotten hit with the least amount of frosting. Everyone had a great time and went home with the goodies they’d made. The final response in Marinette’s email put a smile on her face, knowing that she had done the right thing.

~oOo~

Tuesday morning and the five of them weren’t sure what to expect. They had decided to go with a united front and met at the Dupain-Cheng bakery so they would go to school together. Sabine gladly handed all of them fresh pastries before they left and wished them luck. Marinette’s parents had been made aware of Lila’s deceit and how she had likely scammed their classmates out of a lot of money. Hearing this, the two bakers had been making multiple calls to the Board of Governors about their daughter’s expulsion and other incidents that Adrien had brought up that had to do with Lila. From what they had heard, it was likely that their school, M. Damocles, and Mme. Bustier would be under heavy scrutiny very soon.

Entering the classroom, none of them were prepared for the dead silence from the rest of the class. Everyone looked to be experiencing different levels of confusion, anger, and absolute exhaustion. Everyone except Chloe, who looked smug as she grinned at everyone in the room. When the five of them came in, her smile grew as she looked directly at Alya. “So, how was your weekend on that private island in Venice? Was it as fabulous as Lie~la said it would be?”

Mylene, Sabrina, and Kim all started crying; Nino ducked his head to hide behind his hat, Max's head dropped to the desk with a thunk, and Alya’s fists clenched so hard that her nails cut into her palms. But it was Alex that had the most colorful reaction as she slammed her hands on the table and practically screamed.

“Shut up, you blonde shrew! Grrr! I swear, if I ever see that liar again, I will hit her over her head with my skates until she apologizes.” Her eyes turned to Marinette and Adrien, still angry but with a bit of self-loathing. “You were right. We all waited on that dock all day until the police came and took us to the station. We had to spend the night in the police station and wait for our parents to come get us. Alya tried to argue that it was just a private party and even pointed out the island that bitch said it would be on. But no~, that island was closed to the public and has been for 50 years!”

“We tried to tell you,” Adrien said hesitantly when Alix stopped ranting to breathe.

“Dude, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents so mad,” Nino said, barely lifting his head to look at his friend. “They’re talking to a lawyer about what they can do, but the law dude said that the most they can do is file charges against Lila for the scam and that none of use are likely to get any of the money back.”

“My parents grounded me until the lawsuit is settled or I pay back all the money they spent on coming to get me,” Ivan told them, his large shoulders drooping almost half-way down his back.

“By my calculations, that is unlikely to happen,” Max said, not even bothering to lift his face from his desk. “When taking into account the amount of money that she took from each of us, that she had us go to Venice of our own accord, the fact that her mother is an ambassador and therefore bestowed Lila with diplomatic immunity for her actions; there is not much the law can do.”

Unable to help herself, Marinette turned to look at Adrien as a small smile graced her lips. Adrien gave her a bigger smile that confused everyone, even Nathaniel, Rose, and Juleka. “You should tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Alya asked, not sure if she could deal with any more surprises for the rest of the school year.

“Well, after Adrien and I figured out what Lila was up to, we recorded one of the times she bragged about the trip and how much money she was getting from you. I emailed the video, your names, the dock where she told you to go, and all the other information to Ambassador Rossi on Friday night to let her know what was going on.”

All of their jaws dropped as Marinette continued to speak. “I don’t think she believed me at first; but then she got a report about a bunch of unaccompanied minors from her daughter’s school being detained in Venice and that she had apparently allowed them into the country. She was shocked and confused that any of you got through customs without an adult, but then Ambassador Rossi noticed a stack of documents were missing and figured Lila must have taken them and forged her signature to make the scam more believable. I talked to her again last night; she’s forcing Lila to plead guilty to fraud and forgery, any charges that the Italian government was going to file against you are being dropped, and she's clearing out Lila’s savings to pay the money back to your parents.”

Now the entire class was crying tears of joy and relief. They knew that they’d messed up when it came to Marinette and Adrien, Alya especially towards her best friend. But they were more than willing to work their butts off to make it right, no matter how rough the road ahead of them might be.

#lila salt #class salt #alya salt #ml prompt #ml fic #lila gets exposed

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